The Rise of the Nighstalkers BY JORDRE
by Jake Crepeau
Summary: An Initiative-like organization has been created, because the military cannot ignore the existence of any threat once it has become aware of it. But every organization can stand to be improved. Part 2 of "Nomen Vampyri Rex." Rated M for language, possibly disturbing imagery, and implied m/m relationships; vampires, don'tcha know.
1. Chapter 1

**The Rise of the Nightstalkers**

**Author's Note 1:** This section begins about one year after the prologue to "_Demon Hunters-R-Us_." Badges for parts one and two are original works by me, and do not represent any actual military units to the best of my knowledge.

**Author's Note 2:** This story has actually been in the works since sometime in the summer of 2010, although I didn't sit down to actually start writing it until late July of 2012. The basic story for it was "played out" in discussions between my roommate (and beta), Jake, and I, usually late at night when we both should have been sound asleep. Without her able input, it would never have been written. Started 8/21/12; completed 9-25-12.

**Author's Note 3: ** At the time this story was first conceived, before the raid that claimed Osama bin Laden's life, we (my beta, Jake, and I) did not know of the existence of the actual military group known as the Night Stalkers. This story and the unit designation are not intended to detract from or offer disrespect to them in any way; we hold them in the highest regard. To them we say thank you, gentlemen, for all that you have done, and for all the sacrifices that you have made to keep us safe here at home. May God bless and protect you, and all your brothers- and sisters-in-arms.

In this story, the unit name is spelled as one word, Nightstalkers, to differentiate from the real unit.

**Disclaimer: (applies to all subsequent chapters; I'm not gonna write this over every time.) **All rights to _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _and_ Angel the Series_ belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy; Any Humans and Vampires that you might recognize are his. All others are mine; I'll put his back without too much damage when I'm done playing with them. Some situations referred to are taken from both _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _and_ Angel the Series, _but I'm too lazy to go looking them up to specifically footnote them. If some item or situation sounds like something you wrote, please understand that I didn't intentionally take what was yours; it just apparently made enough of an impression to really stick in my brain.

**~oOo~**

**Prologue**

"General Payne, thank you for meeting me today," General Stuart Durgan said, restraining a slight chuckle at the irony of this meeting. He had sat across from this same man at this same polished conference table not that long ago, to discuss the same project, as it were. It really was just too amusing…

"'Afternoon, Stu," Payne responded with a weary sigh. He suspected what the other officer wanted to discuss; the fact that even their aides had been barred from the room was a strong clue.

"Relax, Mitch," Durgan said and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Yes, I want to talk about Project Hunter—good name, that, by the way. I've read the reports; glad to see that they've had some success there. I _was_ somewhat concerned to see the high turnaround rate among the personnel, especially shortly after startup."

"There was a… problem orienting the new handlers for the Hunter vampires," General Payne admitted with great reluctance. "Too many of the men were overly intimidated by their charges; there were even some cases of outright abuse at the beginning. Those problems have been mostly overcome, primarily by establishing more stringent selection protocols for the handlers. Despite the rocky start, we've gotten several of the Hunters acclimated; they've been out with our patrols, hunting demons around the St. Louis Hellmouth for several months now. I am fully confident that others will adjust also."

"So I read," General Durgan said agreeably, before dropping his bombshell. "I want a tour of the facility, Mitch. An unannounced inspection. I want to see the Hunters, talk to them and their handlers, _without_ their superiors breathing over their shoulders. I want to know what _they_ think about all this, with no repercussions for them or your project. Will you arrange that for me?"

General Mitchell Payne froze, momentarily taken aback. Then he, too, leaned back in his chair. "When would you like to go, Stu?"

~oOo~

**Chapter 1**

"Sit down, Major Finn," General Durgan said as he returned the young officer's salute. "This is to be more of an informal discussion. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you, sir," Riley Finn said, confused now. He'd never heard of this General Stuart Durgan before; all he knew was that he wasn't in his own chain of command.

"All right; we can get right down to business, then," Durgan said, studying the young officer before him. "Just how well did you know the vampire known as Hostile 17 in Sunnydale, Major?"

"Spike?" Riley blurted out, taken completely by surprise by that question.

"Ah. Is that his real name?" Durgan looked truly interested now. "I had wondered…"

"His name is actually William the Bloody, sir," Riley said, somewhat reluctantly. "He calls himself Spike, after the _lovely _habit he had of torturing his victims with railroad spikes in the decades after his turning. After he was made a vampire, that is, sir," he explained at the slightly puzzled look on the general's face.

"So… 'Hostile 17' was the label stuck on him after his capture by the Initiative in Sunnydale, then. Did he ever acknowledge the designation?" Durgan asked, though things were starting to become clearer to him. The Hunter project was still making some of the same old mistakes, it would seem.

"Not really, sir," Finn said definitively. "He was chipped, but escaped, as I gather you are aware.

"And what sources remain after the destruction of the base claim that he assisted a group of human demon-fighters, which included the Slayer. Yes, I've been read in on that, Major. What can you tell me about his reliability?"

"Spike, reliable?" Finn scoffed, then sighed. "Sir, I'll be the first to admit that I'm more than a little prejudiced where Hos… _Spike_ is concerned. I still haven't shaken all the conditioning we were subjected to at the Initiative." He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Spike is the personification of the word 'opportunist,'" he finally said. "If the dictionary were illustrated, Spike would be pictured there as the definition of the term… He went to the Scoobies—the group that supported the Slayer called themselves that, sir—after his escape. He'd fought the Slayer several times before we captured him; kidnapped one or two of her hangers-on at various times also, although he'd never tried to kill any of them for some reason. Anyway, he knew them, at least a bit. He went to them for protection and food, because he thought himself totally helpless at first. They were, in their own terms, 'White Hats'—the good guys, who protected the helpless, and everyone thought Hostile 17 met those criteria at that point."

"I see," Durgan said, leaning back and resting steepled fingers against his lips in thought. "And after he found out he was not so helpless?"

Finn shook his head. "He still hung around with them, sir. He still couldn't hurt humans, but he hunted demons, including other vampires, with them, for the 'spot of violence,' he claimed. And they'd get him blood to eat. The Watcher got pig and cow blood, and not all that much, the stingy bastard—payment for his help, Giles called it. Buffy used him as a sparring partner—he _could_ hurt her, it turned out, although he never tried to kill her after they all took him in. But one of them—the one that claimed the loudest to hate him—would get him bags of human blood when he could afford to buy it."

"So, basically, he voluntarily joined with humans to hunt demons, is this what you're saying, Major?"

"Yessir, General Durgan, I suppose so," Finn said with a frown. "He even stayed with them after Buffy—that was the Slayer—had us remove his chip when it suddenly started to malfunction, three years after implantation. They claimed that he'd somehow gotten his soul back, sir… I don't know if I really believe that or not."

"And then he sacrificed himself to help save the world—or so I see they claimed." Durgan's voice gave no indication as to whether or not he actually believed this.

"Sir… They also believe in magic in that group; one of them calls herself a witch. I only _know_ that some weird stuff happened around them, a _lot._ I know that Spike showed up again several months later in LA, and that he was helping his Sire fight demons there, until some huge blow-up with some demonic law firm occurred."

"I see." Durgan fell silent again, this time for so long that Riley began to wonder if he was dismissed. Finally the general looked at him. "Do you think that there might be any vampires out there that would work with the military on a voluntary basis?"

"Vampires? In the Army?!"

"Their senses would be a major advantage to any unit they would be attached to; no need for NODs1 for them."

"And they'd become vampire flambé at the first touch of the sun," Riley countered quickly. "Surely you don't mean to use vampires against humans, General?" He was shocked at the notion.

General Durgan grinned, pleased that this mere major was actually willing to speak his mind to a general, instead of parroting what he thought his superior wanted to hear. "I can think of several scenarios where their use would be appropriate," he said. "How well do you think such as they would do, sniffing out terrorists?"

Finn froze, arrested by the thought. "Sir, from what little I've seen, they would be highly effective, once properly trained," he said slowly. "But I don't know if you could entice any to surrender to the military willingly."

"What do you think we could offer them that would get them to agree?"

Finn thought carefully before saying anything more. "Sir," he finally began, hesitantly, picking and choosing his words. "I don't know how complete the Initiative's reports were. Did they include the fact that there are vampires out there that choose not to kill humans? They still drink human blood, but… They go to places called 'suckhouses,' sir—they're seen as vamp whores by the rest. Humans go there and pay to be bitten. The bite… it can be addictive, sir. The way it makes a human feel when done a certain way… It's a sexual rush, sir. It's mostly the weaker vamps who go to places like that. Maybe, if someone were to offer a guaranteed supply of blood… but I don't know how useful they'd be. Those vamps go there because they're desperate for blood, sir; they know they're looked down on, despised by other vampires, because they don't want to kill."

"But some might agree to an idea like this, for an offer of blood," General Durgan summarized, seeing that his idea might actually be feasible after all.

"And protection, sir," Finn added with a grimace. "Other vamps would hunt them down for being so weak as to accept shelter from mere humans. Remember, sir, that we're just cattle to most vamps."

Durgan nodded. "Do you still have any contact with this Spike? I'd like to hear a vampire's take on this matter."

"Spike? Uh, last I heard, he was up in Washington State, I think," Riley answered, wondering why the general would care about a vampire's thoughts.

"Good. You're to find him and present this idea to him, Major Finn," Durgan said as he passed over a slim folder. "Read this over tonight; your CO will have your new orders for this by morning. Dismissed."

"Yessir," Riley said, rising to his feet and saluting, his mind numb with shock. Him… to see Spike? Spike _hated_ him… And, shit, he'd have to talk to Buffy or Angel first just to find him. When had the Powers that Be decided they hated him so much? But he was walking out of the office now, his body on auto-pilot.

~oOo~

Riley Finn wearily slid onto the hard bench seat with a despondent sigh. He'd been walking the night streets of Seattle for the past week, searching for Spike, but so far he'd had no luck. He'd been in more demon bars and night clubs than any human city had a right to have, especially one not possessing a Hellmouth. He'd flashed Spike's picture; people—using the term _very_ loosely—admitted to having seen the blond vampire around, but no one would admit to knowing where he might be found. Now, tonight, Riley was taking a break from the demonic world; he'd have himself a nice, human meal, even if it was 2:00 AM. Thank God for all-night places like Waffle House.

The waitress came over to take his order, looking just as beat as he felt. Burger with all the fixings, fries, and a coffee—yeah, that would do him just fine…

"Add a nice hot cuppa tea, luv," an unforgettable voice said, as the black-and-white vision that was Spike slid onto the bench seat across the table from Finn. "So, I hear you've been looking for me, Cap'n Cornfed. Wot d'ya want?" he snarked with his perpetual sneer firmly in place as the girl left with the order.

"And hello to you, too, Hos…uhh, Spike," Riley started to sneer back, stopping himself as he remembered his orders. "Sorry," he said with another sigh. "I have a couple of questions to ask you on behalf of my superiors. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

"Here'll do just peachy, Finn," the vampire answered, sprawling back in his seat, his arms splayed out along the seat-back. "It's nice an' public here, yeah? Safe for both o' us. Not that I don't trust you—Oh, hell, yeah, I _don't_ trust you, you tosser. Wot d'ya want?"

Finn waited while the waitress brought back cups and utensils for the table, then coffee for him and hot water and a teabag for Spike. Cream and sugar came next, with Finn visibly hanging onto his patience. Spike just grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Finally, they were left alone, although Spike knew that Finn's food would be ready soon; he could smell the meat cooking.

"Spike… Do you think that any vampires would be willing to work for the military?" Finn began, rather reluctantly. "There's a general from Washington with a crazy idea to use vamps like some combination of hunting and guard dogs. He's proposing a guaranteed blood source and housing; I assume he means bagged blood, but I don't know what kind."

The vampire gaped at him at first, then burst out laughing at the concept. "Pull the other one, mate," he finally said as he got himself under control once more.

"I'm serious, Spike," Riley began, stopping as the waitress once more approached their table, this time carrying bottles of ketchup and steak sauce, and the pot to top off Riley's coffee. This time, Finn scowled at the girl, but she ignored him and went back to the grill area.

"Might as well wait, soldier-boy," Spike said with another chuckle. "She'll be back with yer food shortly. They're quick, places like this."

"Yeah, I know," Riley admitted, still grouchy. "It's why I came here. Well, that and to get out of the rain. I just didn't expect to find you here."

"You didn't find me, mate," Spike corrected, sneering once more. "I've been trailing you for two days now, just waitin' for ya to settle someplace public without a huge audience. Didn't want to get trapped in that rattrap you're stayin' in. Don't the military pay better than that? My crypt in old Sunnyhell was better than that dump."

The human scowled again, but he found it hard to refute that statement. "I didn't think I'd be here this long; thought you'd be easier to find. Angel said—"

"You spoke t' Peaches?" Spike cut him off in surprise, not sure if the older vampire was betraying him once again or not.

"I knew you were in Washington somewhere," Riley explained. "Buffy told me that much, months ago. More along the lines of, 'Spike's there, so you might want to stay away if you can' sort of thing," he elaborated. "I've been pretty good at that, too, until this general came up with this crazy idea."

"Wot's so crazy about it?" Spike demanded, more to play devil's advocate than because he really thought so himself. "We got better senses, an' we're 'way smarter than dogs. Won't walk on no leashes, though."

"Yeah, like the vamps wouldn't tear out the throats of their handlers, first chance they got," Riley scoffed, shutting up once more as the girl brought his food over. No vamp, he thought, would even try to resist, surrounded by that much temptation.

"Thanks, luv," Spike said, flashing a slow, sexy smile at her. "That'll be all, yeah? Th' boy an' me, we need t' talk, so be a pet an' stay away, right?"

She nodded her head and made herself scarce; you got all types in here at night, and so long as there was no violence, she was just as happy to comply with the punk's request. He looked too dangerous to cross.

"Eat your food; then we'll talk," Spike said, nodding towards Riley's plate. He added, "Th' whelp always gets real pissy if his din-din gets cold."

"Xander's still around, then?" Riley asked in surprise as he started in on his burger.

"Yeah; he's babysitting the local House of Slayers. Got tired o' huntin' 'em through Africa, an' missed the States, so the new Council of Wankers assigned him 'ere. We shoot pool t'gether, couple nights a week."

Riley stopped eating to gape at the vampire, who grinned and took a drink of his tea. He made a face at it—not that it was bad, but it tasted of the paper from the teabag, and he'd forgotten that it would. "Didn't tell you he was here, did they?" Spike asked with a grin. "He could'a arranged a meet, first night you were in town."

"Shit," Riley growled, keeping his voice down. He sighed once more, then passed a folder across the table to the vampire. "Here, why don't you read that while I eat? It's the general's proposal—what he gave me, anyway. I told him he was crazy, but he insisted I find you and talk to you about it."

Spike took the file and started to read, ignoring the human as he scarfed down his meal. By the look of the contents, the former Initiative soldier wasn't lying… but there was no telling if this _file_ was actually telling the truth. He'd heard some rumors out of the South, but he'd check those out on his own before making any sort of decision. "Who's this general wot come up with this plan?" he asked as he finally shut the folder and looked over at his companion. "An' why'd he send you to me in particular?"

~oOo~

"Hey, Dad, I'm goin' out with Sam to a movie. Mom said she'd be home soon; there's some frozen dinners in the fridge. Oh, and some guy is here to see you," General Durgan's seventeen-year-old daughter breezily announced with a kiss hello and goodbye to her father's cheek as she headed out the door. "He's waiting for you in your study," she tossed over her shoulder and was gone before he could ask any questions, leaving him to frown as he headed that way to see who this could be.

A young man sat in a chair facing the door, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. Shockingly white hair was gelled back on his head, contrasting oddly with the nice suit the man wore. Heavy boots, neatly polished, provided another odd note.

"You've good taste in liquor, Guv," the man said, making no attempt to rise. He slowly shook his head before continuing, "Should tell your girl not to let strangers in, though. This may be a gated place, but the security sucks, yeah? An' some bloke at the door, but no car out front… I could'a been anyone."

"Who're you?" General Durgan demanded in as threatening a voice as he could muster, considering he had no weapon to hand. His pistol was in his desk drawer, damn it…

"Relax, Guv; If I'd meant you harm, the bird'd never have walked out of here, or even seen me," the man said with a languid grin, stretching his legs out before him and crossing them at the ankles. "You sent for me—or didn't you think I'd come t' talk to you personally?" He nodded now to the folder resting on the table at his elbow, drawing Durgan's attention to it.

It had to be… Durgan realized, then blurted, "How'd you get here? It's barely dark now."

"God bless DC winter days, Guv," Spike said with a laugh. "Overcast was heavy enough, an' this is a nice, shady old neighborhood. That, an' leather makes a good shield. Plus no one looks at ya twice, bundlin' up on a cold winter day like this one; lot of folks here from outta town, not used t' the weather. Sit, an' let's talk about this notion o' yours, yeah?"

Slowly Durgan moved towards the desk, but his… guest… shook his head and sat upright in his chair once more. "Why don't you sit over there?" he said, waving a hand towards the other chair that bracketed the fireplace he sat beside. "Wouldn't want any misunderstandin's sendin' you reachin' for the gun I can smell in that desk."

The general sighed, but he sat where indicated. "So what do you want to talk about?" he asked, trying not to sound as threatened as he felt.

"Your plan sounds good on paper, but I don't really believe it," Spike said slowly. "Not after wot I heard 'bout St. Louis. Those vamps you got sniffin' demons there—they sure don't seem real happy there, all locked up like animals. An' they sure ain't feedin' well, Guv; can smell it on 'em. Well, on most of 'em," he amended thoughtfully.

"You went down to the St. Louis Hellmouth?" General Durgan asked in surprise, sitting back in his chair.

"Well, yeah. Wanted t' see for meself, didn't I? Can't b'lieve everything you read, these days," Spike answered with a sneer. He watched, curious, as the human nodded in agreement.

"I know. I toured that facility before speaking to Major Finn," the general said bluntly, his frown showing what he'd thought of that place. "They're making a lot of the same mistakes with their personnel that the Initiative did. There are a few handlers who view their charges with respect, but their immediate superiors are keeping their hands tied, preventing them from treating their vamps as they would prefer—as the _handlers_ would prefer, that is. Too many of those vamps would rather eat the humans there than work with them. That's not the sort of setup I'm talking about for this." He waved one hand toward the folder in clarification.

Spike said nothing, easing back in his chair once more and taking another sip of his drink as he waited for the human to continue.

"That's why I sent Finn to talk to you, Spike… You _are_ Spike, correct? William the Bloody, 130-year-old vampire?"

_"Master_ Vampire, an' have been for most o' those years," Spike corrected carefully. "Matter o' pride, that, like those stars you wear on your uniform—somethin' hard-earned, yeah?"

"I stand corrected," General Durgan said with a formal nod. "Just goes to show that I was right—you _are_ the man I needed to talk to. So. What would we need to do to make this work?" he asked, his voice going serious as he looked the vampire right in the eyes.

"You're serious about this—about vamps bein' in the military, like, an' not just t' hunt other demons?" Spike looked at this human carefully, trying to read his thoughts through his eyes, searching for the truth.

Durgan nodded, wondering what the vampire was trying to get at.

"You'd have to get volunteers," Spike explained slowly. "Not like some vamp you'd be putting a chip inta. Vamp goin' against humans'd have t' be able t' defend hisself. An' you'd have t' feed 'em on human blood. Cow an' pig'll keep us alive, but it tastes like shite, an' there'd be too much temptation all around otherwise. If ya _do_ use the chips for trainin', you'd have t' be able t' turn 'em off when they go int' th' field."

Durgan nodded. "That could be done easily," he agreed, more comfortable with his guest as the conversation progressed. Spike had obviously thought quite a bit about this project before he'd come, looking for ways to make it work, not to shoot it down.

"Another thing," Spike continued with a frown. "Y' can't just grab up any vamp an' think this'll work. Most ain't like me an' Peaches—Angel, that is, Guv." He chuckled at the look on Durgan's face at his nickname for his Sire, but continued. "Peaches an' me, we've got souls; the others don't, yeah? Makes a big difference. So ya can't just grab any vamp off the' street, not even a suckhouse vamp, even if they sorta volunteer. Minions—they'd be th' lower-class vamps—cannon-fodder, like—they were never meant to be high-status vamps; just created t' do menial labor, an' take orders. They need a Master Vampire around t' control 'em; a human just won't do. Wouldn't have th' control, like, not t' eat the other troops; most o' them could never develop that, either. So you'd need t' recruit minor Master Vamps, and Childer, t' make this plan o' yours work."

"I take it there aren't too many of those around, though," Durgan said with a sigh, slumping in his chair a bit.

Spike grinned. "Didn't say that, now, did I, Guv? There's plenty, if ya know where t' look for 'em. Even some as might volunteer for yer plan, just t' get a safe haven. Me, though? _I'm __**not**_ one of 'em," he stressed, lest this human get the wrong idea.

"Wouldn't take you even if you were willing," Durgan laughed back, adding in explanation at Spike's affronted look, "You've got too much negative history with the military, too much of a reputation as a loose cannon. Besides, I was told that you keep the demons on the West Coast mostly under control; you're needed there too much."

"Too right," Spike agreed, letting himself puff up briefly in pride. "Master of California, that's me, an' no military puppy-dog."

Durgan chuckled again at that show of pride, before going serious once more. "So where would I find suitable candidates for this program, Spike?"

Before Spike could answer, the study door swung open. "Stuart, are you in here?" the woman framed in the doorway asked, then, "Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't realize—"

"That's quite all right, ma'am," Spike replied in a more refined accent, rising to his feet before the General could say anything. "The General and I were just talking. William Pratt," he said, crossing the room to take her hand briefly as Durgan froze in fear. "I met your daughter earlier; a lovely young lady. She has your eyes."

"Yes…" Mrs. Durgan managed, taken aback by the cultured English accent of this young man. "Well, I'll leave you to your business, then," she said, beginning to retreat from the room.

"A pleasure, missus," Spike said, before closing the door behind her. "Lovely lady. Now, where were we?" he asked, his accent hardening back to its earlier Cockney tones.

"Suitable…" Durgan started, still somewhat in shock over the perceived danger to his wife.

"Oh, yeah; that's right," Spike cut him off with a chuckle. "'Most every good-sized city in the States has a Court o' some sort—some Master Vamp as has set hisself up as cock-o'-th'-shite-heap. You find lesser Masters an' Childer there, hopin' someday t' take over, or just for a place t' belong. Lots o' minions, too—vamps are social creatures, Guv; we don't like t' be by ourselves much. But Masters of a territory, 'specially younger, weaker ones, don't usually care much t' have Masters of other bloodlines in their Courts; too much of a threat of challenge, yeah? Could ask around the Courts for volunteers. How many d'ya need?"

"Maybe a dozen to start," Durgan replied, wrenching his mind back on track. "Do the bloodlines matter?" he asked, concerned now. "There was nothing about that in the old files I read."

"Matters in a court; shouldn't matter for you," Spike answered, then sneered, "Initiative wankers just thought us animals; never asked about how we lived. Too much guilt that way, if they'd acknowledged us as intelligent an' civilized-like. Just sliced an' diced, Guv."

"I'll be looking further into _that,_ personally," Durgan swore, although he doubted he'd get far.

"Yeah, well, blood wasted, an' all that," Spike waved it off, and Durgan filed that expression away as the vampire equivalent of _spilt milk._ "You got a place set up for this little party o' yours?" the vampire went on. "Soldier-boys all picked out?"

"There's a complex of old warehouses, offices, and abandoned ammo bunkers in a back corner of a large base in North Carolina. The bunkers needed too much of an upgrade for our modern munitions, so the area is currently disused. It should provide more than adequate facilities for quarters and training…"

"Best understand an' accept one thing, Guv," Spike warned. "Vampires—we're possessive buggers, yeah? 'Specially us Masters. We judge our strength by what we can take an' hold, so we don't let go of what we view as _ours_ easily. You assign handlers to your vampires, they're gonna see the humans as _theirs._ Their Pets. They'll protect 'em with their lives, once they accept 'em. Means ya can't shift 'em around; once they're paired up, that's it. Any other soldiers they're in with, same thing, especially if they get some of their blood. And they _will_ drink a little from th' tap, from their handlers especially. Marks 'em as theirs, so those men'd best be told to expect it. Possessive, yeah?"

"Right… I think I saw that with several of the Hunters in St. Louis," Durgan admitted, finally understanding what he'd seen. "I don't think the base commander there understands that—or cares," he added with a frown.

"Yeah, well, he won't like wot'll happen if he threatens one o' _those_ handlers in front o' their Vamp. Chip or no chip, he'll have a bloodbath," Spike told him solemnly, then grinned. "So when d' ya want your first vamps, an' where d'ya want me t' bring 'em?"

1 NOD: Night Optical Device


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He strode into the room, his coat flaring out behind him like a ceremonial cape. Spike looked around the room, sneering in disdain. It had once been the main assembly area of a small factory; the machinery had been pushed to one side and sheets of cloth—supposedly velvet and satin—had been hung on the walls in an effort to make the place look grander. A fancy carved wood chair took pride of place at the far end of the room in lieu of an actual throne, and seated thereon was a woman—little more than a girl when she'd been turned—and it was all Spike could do not to laugh at her.

Her hair was jet black, but even from where he was, Spike could tell it was a dye job. It cascaded down over one shoulder in a fall of ringlet curls, contrasting with the blood-red of her décolletage gown. A tacky-looking tiara topped the whole, obviously too large for her head. She regally glared at Spike where he stood, halfway across the room now. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded in a brash Chicago accent.

"More t' th' point, pet, who are _you?"_ Spike returned, his sneer aimed directly at her now.

She jumped to her feet in fury. _"I_ am Mistress Lucretia DiPaolo," she replied haughtily, but she'd lost face-points by rising to his challenge and answering him. Worse for her, she knew it, and would have been scarlet with fury if vampires could do so.

"Are you now, pet?" Spike said, resuming his progress toward her, in a casual saunter now.

"This is _my _court, you ancestorless interloper!" she all but yelled back at him. "You will _not_ speak to me that way!"

Now Spike did laugh. "Pet, I'll speak t' you any way I please. Just stepped in t' let ya know I'd be in town for a few days; 'm wonderin' now why I bothered." As she sputtered in impotent fury, he glanced around the room, noting the trash kicked back into the corners where the shadows almost hid it; also noting the few half-dead humans that cowered back, trying not to be seen. None of the lesser vampires in this room dared to challenge him; they could feel the age and power of him. Most were quite young, still smelling of their graves, their tawdry finery grimy and stained in places with blood. He could sense at least a half-dozen different bloodlines here, among the minions, although he couldn't name most of them and didn't care enough to even try.

Any lesser Masters and Childer should, by rights, be closest to the Mistress of the City. Here, though, they hung back, closest to the exits. That spoke very poorly of the politics of this Court, Spike knew, and grinned. He nearly froze when he caught the scent of Aurelius blood here, but made his gaze continue to sweep the room uninterrupted.

He stopped once more to look at the woman he'd embarrassed before her court. "Wot's a vampire got t' do t' be offered a meal around here?" he demanded, causing the minions closest to him to start scurrying towards another room—no doubt the larder. A place like _this_ dump wouldn't have a Stable, Spike knew; that pretentious twat at the front of the room wouldn't have the control for that. "Make sure it's fresh; don't want no one's sloppy seconds," he called after them, and strode over to the closest chair. The vampire who'd been sitting there scrambled out of it, nearly falling in his haste to vacate it. Spike settled down into it as if it were his due. Mistress Lucretia glared at him, hating her loss of control, but clearly not knowing what to do about it.

"Now then, pet," Spike drawled as he turned his attention back to her. "Sit down an' we'll talk, yeah?"

_"Who are you?" _she shrieked back at him, nearly ready to attack, but holding off—probably because she feared to lose against him.

"Oh, yeah, right," Spike laughed. "I'm Spike, luv." He could hear muttering as the court talked among themselves, then from the back he heard it:

"That's William the Bloody, you moron. Don't you know anything?"

"William the… William _Aurelius?"_ someone else gasped in final recognition, and Spike could see the bint on the throne actually pale. He hadn't thought vampires _could_ get any paler, but she did. His sneer grew broader.

"What do you want here?" she asked a bit more politely now, clearly hating the necessity of doing so.

"Don't want this shite-heap, if that's wot you're worried about, pet," he answered lazily as he sprawled back into his commandeered chair. "'M gonna maybe take some o' th' younger Masters an' Childer here off your hands, though."

"Take them, and be damned," she snarled back, unable to hide her relief. "They're not _my_ get, so good riddance to 'em, I say." Her glare returned as several minions came back into the room dragging two terrified teenagers with them. The boy tried to look defiant; the girl was crying, nearly hysterical. Neither appeared to have been bitten yet—no doubt they'd been intended for Lucretia herself.

"Master Spike," one of the minions fawned, having heard who their "guest" was. "We didn't know which you'd prefer…"

Spike looked the teens over lazily. "Leave 'em both," he drawled carelessly. "Just put a leash on 'em; 'm not in th' mood t' chase down m' dinner t'night." The boy's defiance crumbled as a rope was tied around his neck, the end given into Spike's hand. He looked around the room once more, until he caught the eyes of the suspected Aurelian vampires he'd smelled earlier. "Oi, you two—yeah, you," he confirmed as the pair he'd singled out looked uncertain. "Get up here an' hold onto my dinner. I'll eat later, yeah?" Then he ignored them to look back at Lucretia. "There rooms here… or someplace nearby for visitors, pet?" he asked in a very condescending tone.

She was speechless with rage once more, allowing the older-looking Aurelian to answer first. "Master Spike, it's not much, but we would be honored if you would share our lair for the length of your stay. It's well-hidden and secure…"

"Good enough," Spike said, rising abruptly to his feet. "Done all wot needed doin' here; lead on… an' don't lose m' dinner." Then he swept out of the room, trailed by the other two vampires towing their reluctant charges.

~oOo~

Detroit was falling into disrepair as more and more of the working class left for greener pastures. The failing economy, caused in part by the closing of a number of automotive plants, only served to hasten the exodus, causing a decline in services in the city as the budget grew tighter. The two Aurelian vampires led Spike to a series of deserted service rooms off a closed subway station, accessed from a maintenance tunnel that hadn't seen use in at least a decade.

Spike looked around the sparsely furnished room he'd been offered for the day, nodding in appreciation. "Nice," he said in approval as he flopped down into the most comfortable-looking chair in the room. His hosts brought the teenagers over and forced them down to the floor beside him; he was pleased to note that they used no more force than absolutely necessary.

"Yeah, Master Spike, it is nice here," the older vamp agreed, then sighed. "I'm gonna miss it. We'll have to move again, once you leave."

"Think th' bitch will stake you, yeah?" Spike said rather than asked.

"Oh, yeah," the younger one agreed wryly. "She just looks for excuses to get rid of anyone not 'hers,' ya know? An' they're a useless bunch o' jerks. She's gonna attract Slayers here, if she's not careful."

Spike laughed. "If you're clearin' out anyway, I may just let th' Slayers know where her Court is. Didn't see anyone else worth savin' there."

"We'd heard…" The older one paused, carefully considering his next words. "We appreciate not being staked out of hand, Master Spike, but it makes me wonder…"

"Lot o' wot you heard is probably true," Spike agreed amicably, then his eyes hardened. "I've a proposition for you two; you seem like you might have the control for it."

"Thanks… I think," the older one sighed. "Look, Spike, we've tried to keep off of everyone's radar, including old Master Heinrich, in Sunnydale."

"Sunnyhell's gone. Been gone for years now, an' ol' Batface years before that. Slayer got 'im, yeah? I thought he had all of America's Aurelians there with him for the Harvest; where were you two?"

"We left Sunnydale right after the Slayer arrived," the other vampire admitted. "We knew she'd draw more trouble than either of us really wanted."

"Might have got you in trouble deep, his plans worked out th' way he wanted. You two use suckhouses?" Spike asked, suddenly changing topics while eyeing them sternly.

"No, although we do prefer to snack and run." Both looked worried at this admission, not sure how this senior Aurelian would react. "I have to keep an eye on Tony, still, but he's pretty careful most of the time," the older one added with a slight twitch of his lips that might have nearly been a grin under other circumstances.

"'Sides, there's no suckhouses here; _Mistress_ Lucretia tended to take the Court to them, until none of the humans dared to go anymore. That, or she killed them all," Tony added bitterly.

Spike nodded knowingly. "She seemed th' type. So. Got a proposition for you two, since you gotta move on anyway. Was talkin' to a bloke, yeah? He's lookin' for a few good vamps…" He cut off at Tony's chuckle.

"Sounds like a recruiting ad," the younger vampire laughed. "'The Marines are looking for a few good men…'" he quoted in an officious tone.

"Actually, it's the Army," Spike said, shocking them both into silence. "An' they're lookin' for about a dozen, Masters or Childer wot can be trusted not t' kill the humans around 'em. For special units, anti-terror groups an' such. They're offerin' guaranteed blood, an' a safe haven for those as sign up."

"We heard…"

"Not supposed t' be like that group wot came to Sunnydale," Spike cut him off. "Supposed t' be goin' against other humans, enemies o' this country, if such matters to ya." Then he waited while the other two exchanged glances, clearly thinking it over. Finally, the younger gave a very slight nod to the older.

"I was turned—Oh, yeah, by the way, I'm Ripper," the older vampire began, then cut himself off suddenly. "Childe of Franklin, clan of Aurelius. Not real close like you are, Master Spike. I am a Master, though. This is Tony, also Childe of Franklin, although I've been looking out for him ever since Franklin dusted about ten years ago.

"Anyway, I was turned right before the end of the Great War—World War I, that was—in France; Tony signed up during the Vietnam War, but was turned just before being sent overseas. So we both know about serving our country."

"You sayin' you're willin' t' do this?" Spike carefully asked, curious.

"Why not?" Ripper shrugged with a lopsided grin. "They're not gonna cut us up or anything, are they?"

Spike paused before answering. "They've got this computer doohickey they might use," he slowly admitted. "It goes in your brain; gives one hell of a shock if you try to hurt a human. Nasty thing, that. The general I talked to said they would turn it off after training; that it would just be to prevent accidents, like. _If_ they use it at all, that is. Don't know for sure."

"Sounds like you know about that the hard way," Tony carefully said. "Sunnydale, right?"

"It's out now," Spike snapped, feeling very defensive about this.

"Glad to hear it," Ripper cut in before Tony could put his foot any deeper down his throat. "It still sounds like it's worth the risk, Master Spike."

"It is, if you don't mind bein' on the good side of evil."

"We can do that," Ripper laughed, then looked down at the two teenagers. "Umm… Spike? You aren't planning on draining them, are you?"

"Nah; just gonna take the edge off, from her arm," Spike replied with a sigh and a nod towards the girl. "You two want, there's the boy you can share from. Just wanted to get any as might still be untouched out o' that shite-hole." It was the right thing to say; Ripper and Tony relaxed. "We'll leave t'morrow night, right after dark," Spike told them as he drew the shaking girl up into his lap. "You think you can be ready by then? We'll only get halfway there—gotta go t' North Carolina, kinda near the coast…"

"What about these two?" Ripper asked in concern.

"Got any food for 'em? They can come with us—get them well away from the dumb bint. They're probably runaways, yeah?"

"It's still early enough; I'll go pick something up for them," Tony offered, heading for the door as he spoke. "I'll bring something home for myself, too; night like this, it'd be a kindness." Then he was gone, out into the snowy winter night on his errand.

Sounds like you've th' lad for yourself, mate," Spike laughed to Ripper. _"Bon appétit."_

~oOo~

In Dayton, Ohio, they stopped for the day. They could have gone further, but Spike had realized it wasn't the best idea to be transporting unwilling minors across state lines, so he'd called ahead to arrange secure accommodations for the day. He was glad that Faith was still the head Slayer here, and not Buffy; she had a bit more tolerance for him than Summers did. Buffy still hadn't forgiven him for not letting her know when he'd re-materialized at Wolfram & Hart's LA headquarters.

Faith was very accommodating, allowing Spike to bring his two recruits down into the basement of the Dayton Slayer's Hostel—Slayer Central, as Spike called it. Ripper and Tony were clearly on edge, being so close to so many Slayers, and even more so at meeting an older one face-to-face. They yielded to Spike's authority, though, and would pass an uneventful day, although they, at least, would get little sleep, hearing the curious "Baby Slayers" as they eddied around the closed door to the cellar which contained their unusual "guests."

"Good thing B's not here, Spike," Faith had said with a slight shiver as she looked at the two male vampires who shifted restlessly behind the bleached blond. "She'd stake them without hesitation, especially after seeing the bite marks on those kids."

"Had to eat, didn't we, Slayer," Spike answered with total unconcern. "They look good, compared to th' rest where they came from. You'll want t' be bringin' the Babies to Detroit, pet. I'll give you the address of the twat's Court, just so long as you wipe 'em all out. I've got th' only keepers in th' lot here with me—they're Aurelians, now, aren't they. Family, see? A Master an' a Childe. Not many o' my clan left now; just Peaches an' me… an' them. Gray hats, now; serve their country with their Hell-given gifts. So cut 'em some slack, yeah?"

"Oh, you three can stay the day; said so already, didn't I?" Faith replied offhandedly. "You need anything, Bleach?"

"Yeah, since you're offering," he answered. "Could use enough bagged blood for three, for three days, pet. Prefer human if you can; will settle for elk otherwise. Just not that pig shite, yeah?"

"Sure thing; human's not impossible," Faith laughed and mock-punched his arm, shocking the two vamps behind him when Spike just laughed.

"Just see that th' pups are cared for, yeah? They were right scared when I got 'em; they're better now, with us. We haven't really hurt 'em; just nibbled a bit t' take the edge off when we got a bit too peckish. Didn't have time t' take the lads hunting. They prefer to catch and release, so that'd take too long, yeah?"

"Yeah; wouldn't want the sun to catch you boys out there. Go on, we got some cots set up in the basement. I'll keep the Babies at a distance, so you won't have to keep watch. Good thing Kennedy ain't here." Faith didn't even try to keep the disdain out of her voice when she mentioned the other Slayer; there was no love lost between the two young women.

Personally, Spike hated the pushy bitch; Red was 'way too good for her, in his estimation. "'Preciate it, Slayer," was all he'd allow himself to say, preferring to get his travelling companions safely settled for the day.

"I'll have some warmed blood sent down to you, then some more about late afternoon," Faith offered, growing a bit more serious.

Spike smiled at her. "Mid-afternoon will be fine, if you can pull m' car around into shade. Th' glass is necrotinted; we can be out during the day in it. Only problem is, if we have t' stop t' get petrol."

"Give me the keys, Spike; I'll have one of the Watchers top up the tank for you, so you won't have to stop until after dark," she offered, and Spike's smile widened.

"'Preciate that, too, luv," he whispered seductively.

She just laughed at him, smacking his arm once again. "You wouldn't get _any_ sleep, Bleach, and you need it."

"Yeah, 'cause I need t' keep this sexy body beautiful, don't I," he snickered. "Your loss, luv."

"Maybe next time you come through, Spike." She let her tone soften teasingly in promise, then escorted them to the basement door.

~oOo~

They spent the next day in the Slayers' House in Richmond, Virginia. Faith had called ahead with explanations and instructions for the group, so Spike and his companions had little trouble. He didn't personally know any of these girls, but they'd all heard about him—the bad _and_ the good, so they had cots set up in an adjoining storage facility for the three vampires. They had their own blood supply, so they had little need to interact with their hosts, which suited Spike just fine. He was as eager as his charges to put distance between themselves and multiple Slayers, to get away from the feeling of their skin crawling.

That morning—vampire night—Spike called General Durgan's number before lying down to sleep. "Oi, Guv—got your first two volunteers. We'll be at the base sometime after dark t'night, yeah? Best warn th' soldier-boys at the gates t' let us through." That was all he said, leaving the message on the man's voicemail and giving no identification for himself. His voice alone should tell the human who'd called, Spike reasoned; after all, who could forget _him?_

~oOo~

They pulled into Fayetteville, North Carolina, around eight that night, finding their way around to the main gate of the army base. Efficient-looking MPs made their way to the car, one man keeping back far enough to cover his partner, while trying not to look too threatening to the civilians.

"Identification, please, sir," the man at their car window requested, keeping his voice pleasant while still making it more of a demand.

Spike just shook his head. "Don't got any you'd recognize, mate," he told the man with a smirk. "General Durgan or his people are expecting us—called him this mornin' t' tell him we'd be here t'night, now didn't I?" Spike could hear his voice echo from both the man's partner and from the small guardhouse set between the lanes of traffic into and out of the base, and it made him grin. "It's above your pay grade, mate," he told the guard, who was about to order them out of the car when he suddenly froze. "Your Lefty tellin' ya that now, eh? Just tell me how t' get where we need t' be, an' we'll be on our way, yeah?"

The man looked at Spike in surprise, but the English vampire just grinned. "Could hear your radio, mate. We'll pull over an' wait for th' escort; no worries. Where d' ya want me t' pull the car?" He was waved over to the right, to one of several parking spaces in the pull-through. Spike could hear his companions taking deep, unnecessary breaths.

"It's the military, chums," he said softly. "Best get used to it; you'll be signin' up for twenty-five years, minimum, or however long your handlers live, whichever is _longer._"

"Don't know if I can get used to that, Spike," Ripper quietly admitted. "The 'handler' part, I mean. I'm not a dog, you know." He couldn't quite keep the unhappiness out of his voice or his light brown eyes.

"Best think o' him as your own personal valet an' social secretary," Spike suggested with a chuckle. "'E'll see your food arrives timely, see ya got clean clothes, an' make sure you're at all your social engagements and required meetings on time. Like a rich toff, yeah?"

The two younger vampires laughed at that, lightening the atmosphere in Spike's SUV considerably. Finally, a military van pulled up alongside them.

"Mr. Pratt?" one MP asked politely, not requesting further ID at the sight of Spike's bleached blond hair. "Would you please follow this vehicle, sir?"

Spike nodded, although he wasn't pleased at the use of his original name. _That damned general has too good a memory_, the blond vampire thought, swallowing his snarl of irritation, wishing now that he hadn't gone all chivalrous to the man's wife. But he pulled his vehicle in after the camouflaged van, following sedately into the hinterlands of the base.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They pulled down a short concrete ramp and through heavy steel loading doors into a wide receiving bay. An officer in field dress and two soldiers in all-black uniforms stood waiting for the newcomers on the loading dock, the soldiers at parade rest. They gave Spike the creeps, looking 'way too much like the bloody Initiative for his peace of mind.

"Master Spike?" the officer said, stepping forward and offering his hand as Spike left the SUV. "I'm Major Fielding. Would you please bring your recruits this way, sir?" He waited, his face revealing nothing as Spike hesitated briefly before shaking the offered hand, then stepped back to give the other two vampires room. _Colonel Hall will shit a brick when he sees Spike, _Fielding thought with a mental snicker. He was an old-school, by-the-book type of CO; the sight of the bleached-blond punk would really set him off. At least the other two weren't so bad; they were casually dressed in clean jeans and winter coats, clearly worn, but not disreputable.

"Wot about their gear, mate?" Spike asked, more to have time to gather his composure than out of concern.

"Bring it along, by all means," Fielding answered without hesitation. "They'll be issued uniforms, but they'll be encouraged to personalize their quarters—within reason, of course. They'll be able to order electronics from the PX after training; they will be getting paychecks, after all, like every other member of the Armed Forces." He watched the looks of surprise that flashed briefly in the eyes of the two… not lesser, but more subordinate… vampires behind the bleached blond and hid his irritation. Oh, not at _them;_ mostly it was directed at whoever had given the military such a bad reputation that these recruits apparently expected to be in virtual slavery to the government.

"I'll want t' see wot quarters they'll have, b'fore I turn 'em over to you tossers." Spike was turning belligerent. This was starting to look too good to be true, and it was definitely raising his suspicions.

But again the major didn't hesitate. "Certainly; they can drop their gear off here before we go to see the colonel. This way please, gentlemen."

Spike went with him this time, strutting at the human's side, as an equal, not a… whatever. The other two Aurelians followed, actually starting to feel comfortable now, despite the two men of their escort who followed at the rear of their small party. To Spike's surprise, they were led out of the bunker and across an expanse of winter-browned grass to one of the smaller, newer-looking warehouses. Inside, he discovered that it had been converted into small yet comfortable offices. They were led past deserted workstations and left in a small sitting area outside a closed door that showed a light through the crack at the bottom.

Fielding waved the vampires to seats, then tapped at the office door and entered. "They're here, sir," Spike could hear the man say clearly, despite the closed door.

"Send them in, Major," a second voice replied, followed by Fielding opening the door for them.

Spike growled at the major. "I _said_ I wanted t' see their quarters first," he snarled, standing between the office door and the other two vampires.

The silver-haired man at the desk looked at Spike for a moment, then rose and walked around his desk to meet the irate vampire. "Master Spike of Aurelius?" he asked formally, adding, "I'm Colonel Eric Townsend. I'll be overseeing this project. What seems to be the problem?"

"Told this wanker I wanted t' see wot the… _quarters_'d be like first, didn't I? Not signin' 'em over to ya 'til after I do, an' maybe not then." His jaw jutted out, yellow ringing the icy blue of his eyes. Spike was not going to yield on this issue.

"I can understand your concern for your men, Master Spike," Townsend replied, choosing his words carefully. "I had wanted to meet your candidates first, before Major Fielding here gave you a tour of the facilities. I believe that you will find everything acceptable; if you have any special needs beside what we've provided, you only have to tell the major, and he will see to it, within reason. Once you've inspected the setup, you can come back here, and they can fill out their paperwork then. Will that be satisfactory?"

Spike still glared, the two vampires behind him staying absolutely motionless as their senior considered. Finally he gave a short, quick nod of his head in acceptance and waved a negligent hand at the two vampires standing behind him. "Right, then; that'll do. This is Ripper—he's a Master—an' Tony—he's a Childe. Got the th' same Sire, yeah? A minor Aurelian line. I like th' look o' this place, I'll get ya some others—but they won't be as good as these. Aurelius is an old clan, yeah? Most others are all bloody upstarts. An' I'll be checkin' up on 'em, not just desertin' 'em here with you wankers."

"That will be acceptable," the colonel surprised Fielding by mildly agreeing with the irascible blond. "Do understand, though, that they will not be allowed to speak to their superior officers in such a disrespectful manner once their paperwork is finalized." He grinned as he said that, causing Spike to chuckle.

"Yeah, well, not me, are they, Colonel?" he said as his body relaxed slightly. "Now, about that tour…"

~oOo~

Spike approved of the place from the very start of the tour. The corridors had a pale beige tile on the walls, with darker brown on the floors, instead of the stark white that the Initiative had had. It was recently done; he could still smell the mastic and grout that had been used in the renovation. The corridors were very well lit, but not brightly enough to hurt his eyes with the glare.

A large room had been set aside for sparring and daytime training—probably some former assembly area, the vampire guessed. Judging by the glances that Spike sneaked from time to time, the two younger vampires also approved of what they'd been shown so far.

Then they were shown the wings of living quarters.

There were large media and game rooms set aside just within the security entrance. The heavily barred, locking gates there worried Spike somewhat, but he guessed that it only made sense to take precautions. These humans couldn't begin to predict what their vampire recruits might do if they felt too pressured by the training regimen.

The actual quarters were… unusual, Spike thought. Each space was the size of a moderate-sized bedroom. They had glass fronts, but also heavy curtains that could be drawn across to block out the hallway lights. The walls between rooms were only solid for part of their lengths; heavily barred grates were set into the "open" sections, again with drapes to pull closed on both sides of the bars.

"We were told that vampires are social beings, that they do better if they can interact somewhat with others," Fielding quietly explained the design. "We thought to alternate occupancy—handler, vamp, vamp, handler, like that. The internal gratings can be retracted into the ceilings so that vamp and handler rooms need not be separated, once trust is established. Do you think that would work okay, Master Spike?" he asked, carefully studying their "native consultant," as the brass here referred to Spike.

"Should work," Spike allowed. "Plan t' make 'em sleep on th' floor?"

"No; we'll be bringing in beds and mattresses, once we see what we need. Would you two prefer actual bed frames, or just box-springs and mattresses on the floor?" Fielding asked, turning to the two younger Aurelians, meeting their eyes for the first time.

Tony growled, his eyes glistening yellow, only to be slapped by Ripper across the back of his head. The older vampire looked at the human and shook his head and sighed. "Rule Number One," he said calmly. "Do _not_ look a vampire in the eyes unless you're told to. We take that as a challenge."

"And _that_ is a reaction you'll be overcomin' here," Spike said, his tone severe. "You two know better, or ya should. It's th' bleedin' _military,_ yeah? Officers an' such _will_ look ya in the soddin' eyes, an' you'll take it quiet-like, or I'll come back here an' rip yer guts out meself. That clear, ya tossers?"

"Yes, Master Spike," Tony said softly, his head and eyes carefully lowered in submission. He glanced at their escort. "I apologize, Major; I _do_ know better. I will do better."

Ripper just tipped his head in silent acknowledgment.

Spike looked back at Fielding. "Said you'd be issuing uniforms; wot're they made of? We tend t' wear only natural stuff—silk, cotton, wool. Chemicals in the synthetic stuff reeks too bad, yeah? An' it feels like slime on our skin, too."

Fielding made a face. "We'll have to special-order them, then," he admitted unhappily. "Military issues a poly-cotton blend, mostly. Bedding, too?" He waited for Spike's nod and sighed again. "Looks like your boys will be wearing their own clothes for a while still, then; I hope that they can make do with the issue sheets for now. Leather okay for their boots? What about athletic shoes for PT?"

"Leather boots are fine, mate," Spike chuckled, waving down at his well-worn Doc Martins. "Leather or canvas for runnin' shoes, or a combo o' both is peachy, yeah? Just th' stuff wot goes against our skin's the real issue—an' some o' us are pickier than others. Know some as be real nancy-boys…"

"Just like all the rest of us, Master Spike," Fielding laughed back at the blond's wry tone, then sobered. "Your…'boys' can pick their own quarters until we get handlers permanently assigned for them; we can retract the grating between their rooms if they'd prefer. Just so long as there's no fighting in quarters…"

"There won't be any problems in quarters, Major," Ripper said quietly, looking the man calmly in the eyes. "I think it would be better for Tony if we could have open access between our quarters, especially at first."

"Then that's what we'll do," the human agreed before turning back to Spike. "So, Master Spike, what do you think? Will this pass muster?"

"It's a bloody sight better'n I thought it'd be," Spike was forced to admit. "I s'pose I can be leavin' these two here. I _will_ be checkin' up on 'em," he warned, having to get that last threat in.

"If they have cell phones, they'll be allowed to keep them in their quarters, so you can contact them on your own schedule."

"All right, then," Spike finally agreed, overcoming his distrust to the best of his ability. "We'll get your bloody paperwork done, then, t'morrow night I'll hunt you up some others."

"All right. We just need to go back to Admin for that—back to Colonel Townsend's office. You can fill us in on how much blood they'll need to be given for optimal health and performance; then they'll have to go down to Medical for check-in—so we can establish a baseline for them, is all," he hurried to reassure the now gamefaced Spike.

"Gonna chip 'em, are ya?" The blond vampire struggled to control his temper, but it was a close thing.

"Actually, I think they just want to take full-body photos, weigh them, and get their heights," Fielding answered cautiously, trying not to upset their consultant any further.

Spike cut him off. "You'll have t' be usin' digital; vamps won't show up in regular photos. Mirrors in the cameras, yeah?"

Fielding nodded. "The old Initiative discovered that," he replied. "We also understand that their blood types will change, depending on what they've fed on at any given time, so we won't be bothering with that. We _will_ need to get fingerprints, a retinal scan, and a DNA sample—from a cheek swab, not a chunk cut out," he hastened to add that last qualifier. "You're welcome to supervise that yourself, Master Spike."

"Best be takin' x-rays an' dental shots, too, then, if you're gonna be so soddin' anal on your bloody record-keeping," Spike growled at the thought, but he could see the necessity—at least from the military's point of view.

At last he sighed, "Well, let's get this bloody dog'n'pony show on th' road, then." And he turned and headed back towards the entrance, and the colonel's office to begin the fight through the paperwork. It was gonna be a bloody long night…

~oOo~

The boys had picked out their rooms and had opted for no actual bed-frames (nothing that they could be chained to, although they would never admit that). Spike saw them settled into their quarters for a brief nap before their medical exams and took the opportunity to grab some sleep himself in a nearby room provided by their hosts. It was one set up _outside_ the wing's locked gate, letting them know that Spike, at least, was trusted enough not to be kept locked up. He appreciated the gesture.

They were all up again shortly after noon. The actual exam went very smoothly, no doubt due to the presence of Spike himself. He carefully considered his two clansmen _(clans-vamps? _he wondered idly) with thoughtful eyes once they'd dressed again after being thoroughly photographed.

"Are they up to weight and healthy, Master Spike?" Fielding asked before approaching the blond vampire.

_As if he could actually sneak up on a vamp,_ Spike thought with a sneer, but gave the human some credit for showing caution. "Yeah, they're fine," he answered absently, then turned to face the human. "Wot d' those bloody uniforms o' yours look like? The ones for your vamps, yeah?" he asked, taking the major by surprise with the topic change.

"Like our escorts' earlier," he answered, adding, "Why?"

"'Cause I know where you can get kit that'll look like your soddin' uniforms, or close enough, 'til you can order in the right stuff. Gets dark early now, yeah? Got a mall with half-decent men's shops? They'll have clothes in cotton, at least. Be easy enough t' get black or dark gray, won't it—it bein' winter an' all." Spike laughed softly then. "We can take th' boys shoppin', like. Get some cargo pants an' tee-shirts; will hold 'em for now."

"We could do that, I suppose," Fielding hesitantly agreed. "I thought you wanted to head out tonight, once it got dark enough…"

"T'morrow night will do just as well," Spike brushed off the objections. "Need t' get them proper boots an' trainers anyway." He looked at Fielding once more, barely suppressing his laughter. "You'll have t' pay for 'em, of course," he said, his eyes alight with mischief. "Vamps, we usually just nick wot we want. Don't think that'd go too well with your superiors, will it, now."

"Not hardly," Fielding replied with a mock shudder. "I'd best go talk to the colonel, then, and arrange for financing. Would you please escort 'the boys' back to their quarters for me, Master Spike?"

"Yeah, sure, mate," Spike said, taken by surprise himself. And with a polite nod, Fielding was gone. Spike's head snapped around at the sound of a growl, but Ripper had smacked Tony's head once more before Spike could even see what had upset the younger recruit.

"Don't snarl at the doctors!" Ripper snapped, causing Tony to lower his head and eyes once more.

"Sorry, Master Ripper," he muttered.

"Keep that up, and they'll chip you 'til you learn better," Spike warned, and watched as the young vampire seemed to deflate even further. He sighed and pushed Tony towards the door. "Best get you back t' your room before you actually bite someone. Move it, ya pillock!"

He moved it—fast, to avoid the punch Spike aimed at his shoulder. It would have really hurt, for the elder Aurelian wasn't pulling it. And it would have served him right, he knew, for forgetting himself… _again._ This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

~oOo~

So they went to a mall. Spike hated the places—all the crowds, and the screaming kids, and the Happy Meals walking all around, crowding him, bumping into him… Malls might be good places to hunt, or had been before he'd gotten his soul back, but he hated shopping there. Much easier on his soul just to break in after hours and lift what he wanted. But there was the military to consider, so he would play nice this time and let _them_ pay to kit out their recruits. So the three vampires and Fielding went shopping.

They found cargo pants in a dark charcoal gray, which Fielding decreed quite satisfactory, so he bought two pairs for each of the vamps Spike had brought. Black tee-shirts were readily available. Boots were a bit harder to find, but after diligent searching, they finally found a store that sold mainly high-end leather goods and had what they needed. An athletic specialty shop had the sneakers, so that need was quickly filled. All-cotton sweat suits were even found after more careful searching, although they had to settle for off-white in those.

Spike was content, for his two recruits behaved very well among all the humans. Both he and Ripper kept a close eye on Tony, but the Childe had himself well in hand, never even flashing a bit of yellow in his eyes at all the jostling. Maybe this general had a workable idea after all, Spike finally allowed himself to think. In all truth, that was what this shopping trip had really been about, checking reactions more closely. So tomorrow night, Spike would head back north, trolling the lesser vampire courts of the East Coast to find more recruits for the program. Maybe he'd start in New Jersey; Trenton should work.

That would be tomorrow, though. He headed for a pizza place in the mall's food court, trailed by the others, Tony laden down with all their packages. He'd let Fielding rest for a bit; then they'd look for bedding and such.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Ripper? We _are_ doing the right thing, aren't we?" Tony asked softly, his voice worried. He huddled closer to his… surrogate Sire was the closest he could come to describing the way he felt about the older Aurelian.

"I don't think we really had much of a choice, Tony," the other admitted with a sigh as he let his arms tighten around his younger companion.

They had been escorted back to their quarters the previous evening by Spike, who had stayed with them for most of the night. The provided game room had been well equipped with a modern sound system, a large flat-screen TV, and an extensive video library. There were also pool tables, darts, cards and chips—even a variety of board games was available. Partway through the night, a selection of snack foods was brought in, on the off chance that some of these vampires still ate human foods—Spike dived on the popcorn, claiming it for himself. Several bags of whole blood, along with cans of soda, were in a small refrigerator, and there was even a microwave to heat up the blood.

For Ripper and Tony, the night had been a good one, and they had kept themselves occupied, playing poker with Spike, for pretzels in lieu of actual cash, enabling them not to think about their situation. They had tumbled into bed after their morning serving of blood—their own beds, in their own quarters, but that didn't last. Tony was soon at the connecting doorway into Ripper's quarters, asking if he could sleep in there, "just for the day." He was able to sleep, finally, as Ripper cradled him in his arms and started to purr. If he had any doubts, the older vampire didn't let on.

Now, though, it was late the next afternoon. Spike was gone on his recruiting trip, and they were alone, at the mercy of the military, should this all prove to be a ruse. Again Ripper sighed softly. "We were going to have to move on sooner or later, Tony; Lucretia was getting more erratic and paranoid. And wherever we ended up next, it would have been pretty much the same, unless we went to one of the really big courts, like DC, or New York, or Chicago. I don't know about you, but after dealing with old Heinrich, I've had enough of that ceremonial BS. I think that this is our best bet, but even unlife is a gamble, Tony. Especially now that there are so many Slayers out in the world. No matter where we went, the chances were good that we'd run into one, and I'm not that great a fighter, boy. Neither are you."

"Yeah, I know," Tony admitted morosely, then suddenly perked up. "Hey, maybe we can learn to fight better here, huh? I mean, they train their Special Forces to fight, an' we're supposed to be like that, sorta…"

Ripper laughed and ruffled his hair. "Yeah, something like that," he agreed, but added cautiously, "They may not want to risk playing that rough with us; they might be afraid of being bitten. So if you want that training, we'd best have them chip you, Tony. They'll land a hit wrong, and you'll lose your temper; you're… Hell, we're _both_ too used to thinking of the humans as just food, as not mattering. You don't have good enough control yet, but that might help you learn it."

Tony's eyes flashed yellow briefly as he scowled, but he kept from going completely into gameface. "You're probably right," he finally admitted unhappily. "Master Spike survived the experience; I guess I can, too."

"Good boy," Ripper praised him, for he hadn't wanted to force this on his younger brother. "I'll say something to Fielding when I see him next. Come on, though; chow time. I hear humans coming, and I smell human blood. Get your clothes on; too many humans have a weird attitude about nudity, I've noticed, and we have no need to shock the poor creatures."

Laughing, Tony rose from the bed and headed into his own quarters just as someone knocked on the closed glass front of Ripper's room. With the curtains to both front entrances closed, no one could see in, fortunately. Within moments, both vampires were dressed and looking out into the hallway. A young, tough-looking sergeant stood there, carefully balancing a tray with two very large, covered mugs.

"Ah, dinner has arrivved," Ripper quipped, intentionally mispronouncing the word as he accepted the tray. "Thanks. We appreciate it getting here still warm."

"Not a problem, sir," the soldier replied, a twitch of the lips indicating an aborted grin. "Major says, just ring if you need anything else—except alcohol. That's off-limits for now, he said. I'll bring your breakfast by, come morning. Have a good night, sir."

Tony looked on in amusement from his room. _"Sir,_ huh? Who died and made you an officer?"

Ripper looked over at him and smirked. "Before _I_ died, you mean. They made me an officer back in 1914—I was a captain in the Artillery Corps. I guess someone looked up my old records and decided to carry the commission forward."

"Geez, that's not fair," Tony grumbled playfully. "I just made PFC before _I_ got turned. Bummer." He watched, contented, as Ripper laughed once more before passing over one of the mugs of warm blood. "You never said anything about that before," Tony added, sobering somewhat.

The older vampire just shrugged. "It wasn't relevant before now," he said, then drank some of his blood. Swallowing, he looked at the mug in surprise. "Hey, this is _fresh,"_ he said, tasting no chemicals in it. "Drink up, before it coagulates!" He followed his own advice, chugging down the mugful quickly, as Tony did likewise.

"I don't think we should count on a treat like this every day," Ripper cautioned once he'd finished his meal. "They promised human, true, but they said bagged, and _this_ blood never saw the inside of a plastic bag."

"Maybe not, Rip, but I won't complain about getting the occasional fresh offering," Tony answered, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. "At least they seem willing to let us _be_ vampires, an' not some kind of glorified watchdog." He grinned at his companion. "So, what are we gonna do tonight?"

~oOo~

They amused themselves once more in the dayroom, but Ripper could see that, by morning, Tony was looking a little restless. That same sergeant brought them more blood for their breakfast, as he called it, although it was more like dinner to the vampires. Then they were left alone once more.

Tony didn't even pretend to stay in his own bed that day. He stripped down and washed up, then crawled under the covers with Ripper. He was restless and nervous, and desperately needed the comfort he could draw only from being close to his senior. He needed to _know_ that he was valued, was wanted.

Slowly Ripper stroked the younger vampire, understanding what the other needed only too well. Yes, he was a Master now himself, but there were still times that he very much missed their Sire, times he wished for just such solace as he gave to Tony. At last the younger vampire fell asleep, but Ripper was worried. He would have to find some way to let him burn off all this extra energy. He _really_ had to talk to Fielding, and sooner rather than later.

~oOo~

"I need to talk to the major, Sergeant," Ripper calmly announced when their blood was brought in, late the next afternoon.

"Certainly, sir," the young human said, passing over the tray with its burden of mugs. "I'll let him know immediately."

"Thank you. What's your name, soldier? You seem to be our designated… what, handler? Orderly?" Ripper asked, not sure how to refer to him.

"Downey, Benjamin B., sir," the man answered, keeping a straight face. "I'm not sure I know what you mean by 'handler,' sir," he added, sounding somewhat confused. "The major assigned me to see that you had what you needed—meals and such—until the training program started, sir. He did mention that others of your people would be coming, but I don't think that I'm one of your designated companions. Those guys hang pretty much by themselves, sir."

"So they've already selected the humans to work with us," Ripper mused quietly, watching the waiting soldier thoughtfully. "Did they tell you what we are, Sergeant?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully level.

"Kinda hard to miss, sir, considering…" he waved a hand slightly in the direction of the tray of blood and grinned. "Major swore that I wasn't gonna be on the menu, so it's cool, sir."

Ripper snorted. "Yeah, you're not on the menu. Just be careful around the Childer, though; they haven't as good control as a Master does."

"Yes, sir; man-eating tigers," he replied, still calm. "I was told, sir, to deal primarily with you. Master Spike said basically the same thing—only more British, and a lot more colorful." The laughter was clear in his voice as he remembered exactly how the English vampire had explained the situation. "I'd best go, sir, and find Major Fielding for you."

"Thank you," Ripper said, finally allowing the human to walk away.

"Fielding, huh?" Tony commented softly. "Gonna get me chipped?"

"I'm going to see that you stay out of trouble," Ripper corrected gently as he passed over one mug of blood. "Here; eat your breakfast before it gets cold. It's human, but bagged —I can smell the plastic."

"That's fine," Tony answered as he accepted his mug to take a sip. "It's what we were told we'd get. At least it's warm. I wonder what the assigned humans will be like?" he mused thoughtfully, lowering his mug. "I kinda like that Downey guy."

"He _is_ comfortable around us," Ripper agreed, finishing his own blood. "We'll just have to wait and see. Right now, _I_ have to talk to the Major, so go keep yourself occupied, okay? Keep out of trouble; enough will find us, once there are more of us here."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Tony laughed at Ripper, ducking the blow the latter playfully aimed at his head. He was still chuckling as he watched the older vampire leave with his escort, to go and talk to Fielding.

~oOo~

"What can I do for you, Master Ripper?" Fielding said after the vampire had been shown into his office. "Close the door; talk to me. You getting enough blood?"

"The blood is fine, although there could be a bit more, especially once we're more active, sir," Ripper said, striving to remember the manners he'd learned when he'd been alive. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He settled into the chair across the desk from the major, although he hadn't been invited to sit. The human said nothing about the breach of courtesy, but just politely waited for his visitor to continue.

"We're… In some respects we're a lot like wild animals, Major; we're not used to being caged. We're out nearly every night, roaming around our home turf, even if we're not actively hunting. Any confinement is hard, especially on younger vampires; they're still reveling in their new power and heightened senses. I guess what I'm trying tell you—or ask, rather—is if there's somewhere we can get out to 'play' tonight. _I'm_ feeling constrained, and Tony is getting downright antsy.

"This is a base; do you have a training area here? An obstacle course, maybe?" If he'd needed to breathe, Ripper would have been holding his breath, waiting to see how restricted they would be.

Fielding laughed. "We train Rangers here, among other personnel; of course we have an obstacle course. I don't see why you two can't go run it—you don't need lights, do you? There's only minimal lighting in that area…"

Ripper laughed back. "Creatures of the night, here," he replied. "Of course, you'll see our eyes glowing in the dark, since we'll most likely be in gameface."

"Gameface?" Fielding asked, then gasped as the vampire demonstrated. "Oooo…_kay,"_ he said, regaining his composure. He'd seen it before after all, on Master Spike, but hadn't known what they referred to that form as._ "Not_ something I'd like to run into on a dark night in a deserted alley, Master Ripper. There won't be any problem with self-control for Tony, will there? I've heard that he made some of the doctors quite nervous during his physical, snarling at them."

"Yeah," Ripper admitted with a sigh. "That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I think you'd best chip Tony, just until this training of yours is finished. His control is still just a bit too shaky, and I don't want him to get too used to _me_ being what he relies on to prevent mistakes. In fact, I'd suggest you chip all the Childer that Master Spike sends you. I don't know them, or who their Sires might be. Or even if their Sires will be here with them. I hate having to say this, but I promised Master Spike that we would do our best to make this work, for the honor of our Clan. You _do_ realize that Spike isn't _just_ a Master, but the most senior Aurelian Master in the US, right? Angel doesn't count; he didn't want to be Master of Aurelius; _his _soul interferes too much."

Fielding paused thoughtfully at Ripper's words. "I get the impression that your bloodlines and clan connections are a lot more important than we were previously led to believe. We're gonna have to pay attention to that, aren't we?"

"Unless you want fighting and/or bloodshed, yes," Ripper said, nodding his head emphatically. "Tony and I are Aurelian, but not the direct line. Our Sire was Franklin, who was Childe of Josephus, who was Childe of Luke, who was Childe of the Master Heinrich's—He was Master of Aurelius before Spike—Master Heinrich's lesser-known and much weaker 'sibling,' Irena. So we're a minor line, but our clan is very old, as old as Clan Dracul. I have no idea what other lines and clans will be coming here, but they will be juggling for position and status, secondary to Tony and me. We will help you any way we can, to smooth things out, but you will have to help maintain precedence by not showing too much undeserved favor to lower-status lines."

"Most of the personnel you'll be working with may not understand the significance," Fielding said, almost to himself, before looking back at Ripper searchingly. "Is there some way we can indicate status? Maybe some way to mark your quarters? It's not that unusual to have name-plates on barracks-room doors for permanent-party occupants. The practice varies by base. Perhaps we could do something like that for all incoming vampires and their handlers?"

Ripper's brow lowered as he thought this over. Finally he spoke, his words still slow and pensive. "The important facts would be Sire and Clan. How would you propose to indicate that?"

Fielding had been thinking hard. "Hell, you're… Ripper, do you have another name? A personal name?"

"Richard, although no one uses it anymore, since my sire, Franklin, dusted," the vampire answered, his voice showing his distaste at his old human name.

Fielding nodded his head now. "Well, what I would suggest would be something like, 'Richard, called Ripper, Childe of Franklin, clan Aurelius.' It would fit on three lines on a nameplate… No?" he asked at the vampire's frown.

"No," Ripper answered definitively. "You still haven't addressed the issue of status. I'm a Master… The rest is unwieldy. So, I would suggest it go, 'Master Ripper,' then below that, 'Richard, Childe of Franklin,' then last line, just 'of Aurelius;' we know our own clan standing. A minion wouldn't have 'Childe' in his designation, though, in case you get some here eventually, but you'd still have to indicate who turned him or her. Who Sired them, yes?"

"We usually abbreviate rank on nameplates," the major mused, then grinned. "How about this for you?" he said, jotting something on a piece of paper and handing it to Ripper.

Master Ripper (Richard)  
Chi-Franklin of Aurelius

"One who just goes by a former name would still be able to put it in a standard format," Fielding added as Ripper looked at the paper.

"Ah. So we would then have 'Tony (Anthony), chi-Franklin of Aurelius,' and the very fact that there is no 'Master' posted is telling in and of itself," Ripper said, pleased now. "Do you shorten 'Sired by' to simply 'Si-'?"

"We could do that," Fielding said with a chuckle.

"Good; that's settled, then," Ripper announced. "Now, about our run tonight…"

~oOo~

Times changed, as did obstacle courses over the years, providing a more challenging workout to reflect better training techniques. Major Fielding sent for Sergeant Downey to have him demonstrate the approved technique for negotiating the Rangers' course, although he had to do it much slower than usual because of what for him was poor lighting. Tony and Ripper were thrilled with the course, changing into gameface and throwing themselves into it with a passion. They broad-jumped the water obstacle instead of using the rope to swing across, and went over the six-foot wall in a single leap; the twenty-foot tower required Tony to touch a foot to it once on the way up. The humans goggled at the vampires' speed; their stamina was incredible as they went around the course three times before stopping, and didn't seem tired in the least by their exertions.

"Will all of your people be able to perform like that?" Fielding asked in awe, realizing now just what an asset these vampires could be in the field.

"They should," Ripper confirmed, watching a happy Tony go over the tires again, just because he could. "He's got a lot of extra energy to burn; you've been getting very fresh blood for us, even if it _is_ bagged. Higher-quality food can make a big difference, and not just in how fast our injuries heal."

"So I see," Fielding responded, then started to turn away, but paused. "I'm gonna sack out for a bit; we're expecting our first intake of recruits sometime this morning. Master Spike called to say he was sending two or three down from New Jersey. I would be honored if you would be there with me to meet them, Master Ripper." The Major had had quite a long conversation with the bleached-blond when he'd called to arrange transport for his recruits, and Fielding was in full agreement that it would be better for everyone if Ripper was seen to be the vampire in charge of this unit. The Aurelians seemed to have a vested interest in making the project work, and what good was it to have a consultant on tap if you weren't going to listen to him when he had suggestions? Spike's clan was old and honored; he had a cooperative Master Vampire already in place and another of the direct line was doing the recruiting. So this unit would be an Aurelian nest, as suggested by Spike, with Ripper as Master of the mixed Court to be established there. Ripper would lay down all laws, and uphold them, among these military vampires, and Fielding would see to it that he was supported in any way necessary. And then they would see what could be accomplished to justify this excursion into the supernatural.

He jumped as Tony suddenly appeared behind him, and a puff of air hit his ear as the young vampire whispered, "Boo!" before spinning away with a laugh. Yes, they would definitely need more exercise, he realized and sighed once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

They were waiting on the loading dock as the closed van pulled in—Fielding and the two honor guards, with Ripper joining them from the shadows once the large steel doors closed, shutting out the sunlight. But it was Ripper himself who approached the vehicle after waving the humans to wait. The passengers in the back knew that the sun was up now, and they were afraid, so it would be much safer for the humans this way. Apparently Fielding guessed as much also, because he waved the driver and his relief out of the front of the van, and motioned them to stand well away to the side before the back was opened.

"Okay, fellow vampires," Ripper said softly as he opened the back doors. "You've arrived. It's safe: You're in a closed loading bay for an underground bunker, so the sun is not a problem. Come on out; there's paperwork to fill out, then the humans will show you to your quarters."

He looked in at the three rattled vampires. They peered nervously out from beneath a large canvas tarp, which had been spread out as added protection over the large mattress on the floor of the van's cargo compartment. Ripper could see why they'd be nervous at these arrangements, for the cargo section was open to the driver's area, with only a wire safety grille between the two, and sunlight would have hit the tarp for at least part of the morning, despite the lack of windows in the back. He winced at the thought of being back there for hours like that himself, then grinned. "I'm Master Ripper of Aurelius," he announced in a quiet, no-nonsense voice. "I'm Master here; over there is the human called Major Fielding. He's in charge of the soldiers who will be working with you; you _will_ show him respect, or _I_ will see to you myself. Is that clear?"

The three vampires nodded in agreement, although one looked slightly mutinous at the thought of taking orders from mere humans. Still, they _had_ agreed to this, so they cautiously climbed from the back of the van and looked around themselves warily. One hissed at the sight of the waiting escort, but Ripper was there quickly to slap the back of the vamp's head, almost before he'd ended the hiss.

"That's enough of _that,"_ Ripper snarled, his eyes glowing golden now. "They're not offering to hurt you. Get used to 'em, 'cause they're gonna be around you a lot. Now come with me, and stay in your human masks." He turned and stalked off, ignoring the honor guard. The three new vampires followed after him, having little choice now, although the one that had hissed cast another unhappy look at the humans who now brought up the rear of their group.

They didn't go far; only to a small room that had been set up nearby as a conference room/office. The human major went to a chair near the one Ripper chose for himself, and sat a beat or two after the vampire, establishing precedence for the others. "Sit down," Ripper snapped, watching as the three complied. He waited while packets were handed out to them by one of the humans; only one of the new ones sighed and looked at what he'd been given. "Fill these out," Ripper growled softly. "If you don't read or write, tell me now, and I'll have one of the humans read the questions to you and write down the information. Then I'll see that you are taught how later. It may be a human skill, but it will come in handy in this, your new life."

Slowly the other two reached for their packets and finally began to read through them. Ripper watched in silence as they worked their way through the paperwork, the major nearly as still beside him. He could smell the unease drifting off the human, but it wasn't excessive, only what could be expected in a new, unknown situation. He gave the man points for courage, for the human's body language gave no hint of his feelings. He looked over his new court members in approval. These new vampires were all younger than he was; he could feel the lower level of power in them. The one he guessed to be the youngest was the rebellious one; that figured, somehow. He studied them as they wrote, guessing two Masters, maybe, and a Childe—or one of the two older ones was a Childe just about to become a Master. That was the one who had opened his packet first; Ripper would have to remember to keep an eye on him for possible advancement. Nevertheless, it was a good start, and boded well for the future.

At last they finished and looked back at him warily. He waited until one of the escorts gathered up the papers and handed them off to Fielding, who looked them over before passing one page from each packet to Ripper. He ignored the papers for the moment, focusing instead on the new recruits.

"Your belongings have been brought to a common area in the quarters. We're going there now; you'll be fed there first, then you'll be given rooms," he said, rising to his feet, followed by the major. "You'll start training tonight."

The others rose also and followed raggedly behind, wondering just what they'd let themselves in for.

~oOo~

It was late the next afternoon when Tony finally woke up. He didn't _feel_ any different… A small motion caught his eye, and he looked over to see Ripper sitting beside his bed, watching him. "How long have you been there?" he asked his senior, his voice feeling dry and scratchy.

"Since they brought you back from surgery, early last night," the older Aurelian answered. "They said you'd probably sleep 'til late today; looks like they were right." Fielding had wasted no time, he thought as he looked down at Tony. They'd taken him for the surgery around mid-morning after giving the young vampire a heavy feeding of fresh blood to ensure a good recovery. Tony had gone quietly, knowing that he couldn't yet keep from growling at the humans; it was for the best. He wouldn't be the only one so treated; he'd seen the three who'd arrived just before his surgery. No doubt they'd be dealt with over the next few days, if they hadn't been already.

"So I can't hurt the humans now, huh?"

"Nope; not unless they allow it," Ripper confirmed, still somewhat unhappily. "They can turn it off for combat training, and remotely reactivate it if you get out of hand. Plus it automatically deactivates when you're here in quarters; no one can attack you with impunity. That was Master Spike's suggestion, based on his own experiences. I don't think that _that_ would have been a problem here, but…" His voice had grown darker as he spoke; now he let it trail off.

"We get any more new guys in?" Tony asked, intentionally changing the subject.

Ripper gladly accepted the distraction. "Two: Another Childe, and a minion who's very old; smells almost like one of us, but she can't recite her lineage—doesn't even know who her Sire was. She has better control than the new Childe, though, so we're gonna keep her and claim her as an Aurelian. They'll both be chipped, as will two of the ones brought in yesterday."

"So it's looking good, huh?" Tony asked, trying to keep the conversation upbeat.

"Yeah, looking good," Ripper chuckled. "Hungry? I've got some warm blood in a thermos for you."

"I could eat—although I'm not as hungry as I expected to be." Tony was surprised by that, but Ripper only laughed.

"I'm not surprised," he answered the unasked question. "They poured two units down a tube into your stomach this morning, so you didn't even miss a meal."

"Sweet," Tony crooned, but he still eagerly accepted the mug of blood offered to him by Ripper. "So I'm good to go now, right?"

"I guess, although they left, like, three pages of after-care instructions," Ripper muttered as he shuffled through them, then stiffened and snarled. "This is bullshit!"

"What?"

"They want you to 'stay in bed and rest' for a week!"

"No way," Tony agreed, carefully sitting up more, then swinging his legs out of the bed. The room swam a bit, but it settled soon enough as the older vampire steadied him. "I know you want me obeying all lawful orders, but that's just crazy, Rip. I'll go out of my mind."

"I know," Ripper agreed, then, growling, added, "Stay there for now; I'll get this straightened out."

"Sir, yes…" Tony started to say, then cut himself off. "Okay, Ripper. I'll just lay here until you get back." He carefully settled back down until this last bout of dizziness passed. He _could_ have gotten up, but he would wait, gladly, for official permission. Better that than greeting the floor up close and personal.

~oOo~

Ripper hit the locked entry gate and started cursing. "Open this damned gate!" he snarled at the soldier who came to investigate the ruckus.

"Sir, please step away—"

"It's okay; that's Master Ripper," a familiar voice said just before Sergeant Downey stepped into view. "He has free passage _always; _Colonel Townsend's orders. Sorry, Master Ripper, but we've been taking precautions ever since the new personnel started arriving. Just ring; you'll be let through, day or night."

Slowly Ripper shook off his gameface, letting himself be soothed by a familiar person, one he considered practically a Pet. He stepped through the gate as soon as it was open, the sheaf of papers he carried crumpled in his fist. "Where's Fielding? I want to see him _now,_" he demanded, his ire rising once more.

"Certainly, sir," Downey responded. "He's in his office across the way. Sun's still up, but I have some gear you can try; it should let you get across the greenway without becoming a humanoid torch. It's in the loading bay, sir."

Ripper fought his temper back under control. "Show me," he said, much more reasonably now that the humans were trying to meet his demands. These were just underlings, he reminded himself, and the sergeant was favored by Tony. He would save his anger for someone more likely actually to deserve it. So he let his eyes go back to brown and followed after Downey.

"Here, sir," the human said as they reached the bay. "I thought a balaclava, pulled down—you should still be able to see through it—and a coat with a hood pulled up. Put on gloves, and you should be able to run across safely if I go ahead and open the door for you before you start your run."

He held up the items, assisting Ripper much as a valet would, then opened a walk-through door to leave the vampire waiting in the shadow of the building's front. Ripper waited with what little patience he could muster as the human ran ahead of him—actually ran, so he wouldn't have to wait too long—and opened the warehouse's office door. A few voices could be heard protesting the influx of cold air as the door was held open, but neither the vampire nor the sergeant paid them any heed. Ripper sprinted across and slammed into a uniformed woman who'd come over to try to force Downey to close the door. The collision rocked Ripper somewhat as the woman fell onto her butt; the vampire managed to keep his feet and get clear of the sunlight despite the obstruction. "Next time, stay out of my way, woman," he snarled into her shocked face, his eyes flashing momentarily to yellow; he made no move to help her up from the floor.

"Sorry, ma'am," Downey said to the stunned lieutenant, but he, too, left her there, following after the vampire instead. He still didn't manage to catch up until Ripper had slammed into Fielding's office and literally shut the door in Downey's face. The sergeant breathed a mild oath, but just settled into a chair set outside the major's door to wait.

~oOo~

Major Fielding was standing at attention behind his desk when the vampire charged into his office without any warning. A short man in an officer's uniform stopped berating him to let out a squawk of outrage as he was unceremoniously shoved to one side by this intruder. "Whaddaya mean by this idiocy?" Ripper demanded as he waved the aftercare papers in front of Fielding. He completely ignored the other man, whom he regarded as totally inconsequential now that he was out of the way.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" the man demanded, grabbing one of the vampire's arms and attempting to swing him around to face him. He found it was rather like trying to move a well grown oak tree—until the vampire turned on his own with a snarl.

"Touch me again, human, and I'll rip your throat out," he hissed, fangs bared and eyes blazing yellow, as far into gameface as he would allow himself to slip.

That got Fielding into motion. "Master Ripper, no, _please!" _he cried, darting around his desk to try to get between the two… men. "This is Lieutenant Colonel Hall, Ripper; he's second-in-command here."

"Then he should know better than to lay hand on me like that," the angry vampire snarled, although he made no further attempt to harm or threaten the colonel. _"We_ have business, Fielding; _he_ can come back later."

"You can just get the hell out of here—_Recruit,"_ the colonel grated out, trying to hide his fear at the vampire's presence, and failing badly. "You're on report; another such outrage, and I'll see you in irons!" he threatened, causing the vampire to snarl once more.

He stepped towards this irritant just as the door opened, letting Townsend into the melée.

"Hall! My office, _now!"_ he ordered, capturing the pompous little colonel's attention along with his arm and diverting the vampire's approach. "Master Ripper, be so good as to wait here for me; I'll be back shortly. We need to have some words about this debacle," he said in a more moderate voice as he nearly shoved his second-in-command out of the room.

Ripper had paused in his correctional attack; now he briefly nodded in acquiescence, only to turn his still yellow-eyed gaze back on Fielding.

The major took a deep breath, then indicated a chair. "Have a seat, Master Ripper, please. I don't know what you're upset about, but whatever it is, I'll try to fix the problem."

Ripper was only halfway paying attention to this human; he was too busy listening to Colonel Townsend reaming out that obnoxious little upstart for nearly jeopardizing the entire vampire project, due to his "unreasonable bigotry and superstitious fears," he could hear Townsend saying. The vampire couldn't help the vindictive smile that crossed his face, showing his fangs once more. But his eyes went back to brown, and Fielding watched in wonder as the fangs were retracted.

"What was that impertinent little fool accusing you of, Major?" Ripper asked, curious now at this sign of dissension in the ranks.

"He's never been very happy about this project from the start, I gathered," Fielding started to explain quietly, shaking his head. "He's old-school; doesn't approve of females in the military at all, never mind in combat areas, except as nurses. _And_ he seems to think that the budget money comes out of his own pocket. So, he was in here, telling me we're spending too much, buying human blood when all the past research showed that you could survive adequately on animal blood, which costs a whole lot less. He claims that we're coddling you unnecessarily. _And_ he's pissed because Master Spike sent us that female in the last batch. Asshole," he added under his breath.

"You'll probably see other female Masters," Ripper said absently, still eavesdropping. "They're not uncommon. But you won't have to worry about—what's his name, Hall?—much longer. The colonel just told him that he'd better put in for a transfer, or he'd be kicked out. This, after _really_ dressing him down. It was a thing of beauty, that," he said, laughing now, but he quickly sobered. "Are you trying to undermine me, Major, or leave me with no reliable lieutenant here?" he asked, going back to the reason for his visit, although much calmer now.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Fielding confessed, concern in his eyes.

"You have ordered Tony to remain in bed—for a _week!_—following his being chipped. Do you have any idea what that will do to his status? Any vampire seen as weak is killed, Major; we… absent ourselves when badly injured, until we heal. Tony cannot afford to stay out of sight this long, not with all the new vampires coming into a newly forming Court. If he is seen as weak, it reflects on _me,_ since he's my Clansman, since he shares a Sire with me and has naturally been chosen to be my second."

"Oh, shit," Fielding muttered as he slowly sat back behind his desk, easily seeing the reasons for the vampire's outrage. "Can I see those papers you were waving around earlier? Where did you get them?"

"They were given to Tony by the doctors when he was sent back to his quarters after surgery," Ripper replied, not quite repressing a growl as he passed over the sheets of instructions.

Fielding paged through them, looking finally at the signatures on the last page. Anger clouded his eyes. "That interfering little…" he started, but sputtered to a halt. He took a deep breath to regain his own control, then looked back at Ripper. "According to the signature page, Colonel Hall authorized 'standard medical treatment' for all vampire personnel. So the doctors just handed out the same aftercare instructions they would for a human, without consulting me in any way. I _will_ fix this, Ripper. I will set the doctors straight on the degree of aftercare appropriate for your people. On _my_ authority, please tell Tony that he may resume all normal activity as soon as he feels capable. And I'll make sure that all the others are kept down at least one day longer than Tony, so that he will appear stronger than the others when they're chipped. Will that work?"

Ripper nodded in agreement. "That'll take care of the problem, Major." He paused, then thoughtfully asked, "You won't get in trouble over this, will you? Do you need me to talk to Colonel Townsend to explain the situation to him myself?"

Fielding chuckled briefly. "No, it'll be fine. I'll take care of this; will you be able to get back to your quarters okay?"

"Yes; I'll have Downey clear the way and open all doors ahead of me. The sun is lower now, so it is much safer. We _do_ need to come up with designs for protective gear, though; I can almost guarantee that we will have to be out in daylight once we go active. We can talk later about that, though." Ripper was in a very agreeable mood now, and he smiled pleasantly at the human.

"Later, then, Master Ripper," Fielding agreed, rising to see his visitor to the door.

The vampire started back towards the entry, but a young human hurried after him. "Excuse me; sir?" the girl called out. "Sir? Colonel Townsend asks you to see him, sir."

Ripper stopped and turned, looking around Sergeant Downey, who had followed him from Fielding's office. "He's gotten rid of the other one?" the vampire asked, trying for a halfway pleasant tone, although he was irritated at being stopped by a human this way.

"Yes, sir; he's waiting for you in his office now, alone," the colonel's clerk confirmed.

"Very well, then." Belatedly remembering Townsend's earlier request to talk with him,Ripper headed back up the hall to the office he'd only been in the night he'd arrived. The girl slipped ahead of him; he paused to allow her to announce him, then strode into the room with all the assurance of a Territorial Master.

"Master Ripper," Townsend said, making sure that his clerk had closed the door behind his visitor. "Please sit; there's no reason for this to be any more unpleasant than it has to be.

"I realize that you have been a civilian for many decades up to now, but I hope you realize that even you cannot speak to a superior officer, or threaten him, in that manner."

No doubt the colonel had planned to say a good bit more, but the vampire cut him off. "Colonel, I realize that you are in command of this project; I've accepted that as graciously as I can," he said, not showing any signs of his anger at the presumption of this mere mortal. "However, for this to truly work as you wish, you need to have a Master Vampire in clear control of all the others. As I seem to have been elected, I have to do whatever I can to maintain a certain image. So, you command the humans; _I_ command the vampires. They cannot see me as your underling; if anything, they will see _you_ as answering to _me._ It is our nature, and the only way that this will work. Surely you don't honestly think that these Childer are allowing themselves to be crippled by your chips on _your_ say-so?"

"Actually—" Townsend started to speak, but was again cut off.

"They allow themselves to be put under the knife because _I_ said they had to. And that moron, Hall, nearly sabotaged your whole project because he couldn't be bothered to find out anything about us." Ripper let some of his anger show in his voice now. "Your volunteers are here because this is an Aurelian Court, under an Aurelian Master. Our Clan Master found them worthy and called them into service; they will not stay and 'play nice' with your soldiers if they sense any weakness in me. It's just too bad if _you_ don't see things the way we do; _I'm_ trying to make this work despite that fact."

He could smell the anger rolling off the human, but the man didn't let any of it show; instead, he said in a level voice, "Colonel Hall will not be a problem any longer; he has requested a transfer, and I have expedited the paperwork already. As for you, Master Ripper, you may be in command of the vampire personnel across the greenway, but here in this office, among _my_ human troops, you will show proper courtesy and respect. _That_ is the only way that this will work. Otherwise, the whole project may very well be scrapped, and where will that leave _you_? I am not threatening you; be so good as to return the courtesy. Now, you are dismissed; please return to your quarters, and in the future, do not go barging into someone's office that way; it's extremely poor manners."

He glared into the vampire's eyes, expecting his abrupt dismissal to provoke anger at the least, if not an outright attack, but Ripper just grinned at him. "Good, we've gotten the chest-beating out of the way," he said lightly, understanding that Townsend had to maintain his own appearances before the human troops; he supposed he ought to return the courtesy these officers were trying to show him by not eroding their authority over their men. "Thank you for taking care of that little prick, Colonel; he was trying to undermine Major Fielding, and he didn't really give a damn about what was best for us or your project.

"The sun's down far enough now that I won't have to scurry like a rat deserting a sinking ship to get back to vamp territory, so I'll bid you a good evening, sir." Then Ripper stood to attention briefly, although he didn't salute,(1) turned, and headed out the door once more.

Townsend just stared after the vampire wordlessly, not knowing what to make of him.

**Notes**

(1) Historical note: In 1914, Ripper would have been in the British Expeditionary Force, like many other Americans, since the US hadn't yet entered the war; thus, his training would have been in British protocols. Though the American Army and Air Force do not salute indoors, someone with Ripper's training would have—although, of course, Ripper, being a vampire, would never salute a human anyway, even if he was just "playing the game."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** to my anonymous reviewer ― thanks for the review; sorry I couldn't answer you personally. Military-type details are whatcha get when a bunch of your friends are active or ex-military *grin*.

**Chapter 6**

Ripper stood to the side, watching as the vampire recruits practiced their hand-to-hand combat under the watchful eyes of Special Forces instructors. He had been in the midst of his own training routine not long before, but he wanted to see for himself how all the others looked. And, for the most part, he was pleased.

Spike had sent in a total of thirteen other vampires, mostly Childer, except for four Masters and the one old Aurelian minion. It had taken a while, but the human instructors had finally accepted the fact that the female Master and Childe who'd come with the last group were just as powerful, physically, as their male counterparts. They hadn't believed him at first when he'd told them that the "packaging" didn't affect their capabilities, but only their preferred manner of hunting. They believed him now, though.

So there were fourteen of them, all told. One of the Masters that had come had proven totally unsuitable; he had challenged Ripper at every turn, vying for Mastery of the Nest, until the Aurelian Master had been forced to stake the young upstart. Townsend hadn't been very happy about that execution, but he'd accepted it, since it was a _fait accompli._ All the Childer had been chipped, along with the youngest of the Master vamps; true to his word, Fielding had had the doctors keep those vampires sedated an additional twenty-four hours, making it look like Tony had recovered much faster than all the others. Their healing had also been slowed by giving them animal blood—pig, that had been—instead of human; it had been given by stomach tube, so they'd had no taste of it and wouldn't know the difference. The humans' duplicity had made Ripper smile; he was now beyond challenge, and Tony's place was firmly established.

Thinking of his young lieutenant now, however, made Ripper frown. There had only been twelve humans pre-trained for the handler positions, and Ripper had had Fielding assign them to the others; this left both Tony and him without a human companion, although Sergeant Downey still brought them their blood. It was a problem, one that Ripper wasn't sure how they would solve. As Master of the nest, he didn't _have_ to have one; he would do more good, be more useful, staying here at the base to keep control over all the others. It wasn't fair to Tony, though.

The younger Aurelian was doing superlatively. He could win his matches against any of the others, even at two-to-one odds. He could even successfully take on any three of the weaker Childer, and had developed excellent control against human opponents. He rarely got zapped by his chip anymore, as compared to the others, who even now could occasionally be seen to wince from the electrical jolt. And he moved with almost human confidence when they trained outside in the sun, now.

Their new uniforms had arrived, and Ripper approved of them very much. To the eye, they looked like what the humans wore, but they had a thin layer of flexible Kevlar fused to the inside, making it much less likely that they could be torn and expose the wearer to deadly sunlight. The only oddity in them was the attached hoods which could cover their heads completely, including a roll-down face shield, on their issued jackets. They also had separate hoods, which could be tucked into their shirts instead, and lightweight, flesh-toned leather gloves, matched to each individual's complexion, that went well up their forearms under their shirt sleeves to protect their hands and wrists. Their combat helmets had detachable full-face shields, for wear in daylight hours, and they had necrotinted polycarbonate goggles and wrap-around sunglasses for when the face shields were inconvenient.

And, of course, well-made heavy leather boots.

Oh, yes, they _looked_ almost like standard military on the outside, but they wore no rank insignia, no unit patches, and only their preferred "call-names" on their uniforms. Their human counterparts were similarly unmarked.

"They're looking good, Master Ripper," Major Fielding broke into the vampire's musing as he walked over. "Do you think that any of them would be ready for a field trial? Some of the brass are getting a little impatient to see some results. The colonel is stalling them, but he sent me to see what you think."

Ripper stood beside the major, watching his unit a few minutes longer before speaking. "The only one I'd trust right now without an active chip would be Tony. He doesn't have a handler yet, though." He paused, pursing his lips before slowly continuing. "He likes Sergeant Downey, Major; you could send him out with Tony. He's used to us and understands our needs, even if he wasn't picked for active participation. He's combat-trained, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Fielding said thoughtfully. "He's had two tours in Iraq, and one in Afghanistan; he was assigned to a training rotation to give him a break. I don't know if he'd be willing to go back into that mess now."

"He will go, if that's where you send Tony," Ripper said without any hesitation. "A good Pet always follows his Master willingly."

Fielding looked at the vampire beside him, but held his tongue. Downey wasn't any vampire's "Pet," but it would be a waste of breath to contradict Ripper. Some views just wouldn't be shaken from him. "I'll see what he has to say, then; why don't you go have Tony draw the appropriate gear? Stores will have his orders, so they'll know what he'll need."

"All right," Ripper agreed thoughtfully. This would be very good for Tony's standing here, he realized: the first one deemed ready to go and fight. Tony would be thrilled to be selected, also. "He will be ready whenever he is needed." He tipped his head briefly to the major, then went and pulled the younger Aurelian out of the training exercise, so he could eat and draw his gear. They would not have to wait for him.

~oOo~

They waited to board the plane until it was dark. Tony was practically bouncing with excitement, causing Ben Downey to smile. It was like watching a kid going for a treat, instead of someone going into a hot, dry meat-grinder. He should have his head examined, the sergeant thought ruefully. Here he'd had the perfect opportunity to stay at home for a while; instead, he'd jumped at the chance to go along with this supernatural… _teenager!_ Yeah, he was certifiable, for sure.

For all his excitement—he'd never flown before, even as a human—Tony was well under control. His escort carried the remote that would disable his chip; that would be done once they'd reached their destination, lest he forget himself through boredom, or annoyance at some petty official. They would be met when the plane landed, and they would be escorted to meet the CO of the unit they'd be working with. Tony wondered just what the humans had been told about them, if they _knew_ what he was. He threw a quick, worried look at the cooler that held his travel rations, and just as quickly masked any sign of concern. He had an image to uphold, after all.

He hadn't been told what their destination was and hadn't asked. It just hadn't been important then; now, he wished he had.

The plane was huge and cavernous; sounds echoed loudly inside, despite the cargo it was filled with. There were some very uncomfortable seats near the front for them, along the bare metal sides of the cargo bay, and he quietly sat next to Downey, watching as a crewman secured his cooler. He would have to drink his blood cold if he got hungry on the flight; he shuddered at the thought.

"You okay, Tony?" Downey asked, feeling the vampire's slight motion.

"What? Oh, yeah; just contemplating a cold dinner," Tony answered somewhat obliquely. Downey grimaced in understanding and said no more as the engines, which had been idling, roared to life, making conversation impossible as the aircraft taxied into position for takeoff.

~o~

A long, noisy eternity later, the plane finally settled to the ground with a bounce. He could smell the difference in the air, the heat and sand, and the strange foods used by the humans here. Tony wondered idly how different it would make their blood taste… But he wasn't going to do that, not indiscriminately, at least. He looked over at Downey in concern. "You realize that I might have to hunt, if we get caught without supplies," he began, but the sergeant just nodded.

"Yeah; I thought of that," he said slowly. "How much control _do_ you have, Tony? Can you eat without, you know, killing someone?"

"Oh, yeah," Tony replied, surprised by the question. He'd expected outright revulsion from his human companion. "Master Ripper an' me, we actually used to prefer to 'snack and run,' as he called it. No messy corpses to get everyone upset and start hunting _us_. You know: you take a bit from several people; they get off on it if you do it right, and most times don't even realize that they've been bitten. Why do you ask?"

Downey avoided the question momentarily, asking another instead. "You always go for the neck, like in the movies?"

Shaking his head, Tony answered, "Nah. That's good for a quick feed, or if you mean to kill; it's safer—slower, see—from an arm. Or a leg, but that's something else, you know, like during sex."

"O-kay. So, if we get caught out somewhere, you could, like, feed a bit from, say, me? Without killing me or hurting me bad?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't hurt you, Downey," Tony asserted, puzzled. "I take good care of my possessions." That ended the matter as far as the vampire was concerned.

Downey, however, looked surprised. One of his _possessions?_ Was that how Tony thought of him? He tried to get mad about it, but gave that up as useless. Tony was a vampire; that was just how he looked at the world: Something either was, or was not, his. Period. And it could be a lot worse, Downey realized, if Tony _didn't _think of him as his. It could be very, very bad, in fact…

"Everybody out," a crewman called, breaking into their thoughts suddenly, as he unstrapped Tony's now-empty cooler. "Hey, what happened to this?" the man asked suspiciously as he felt how much lighter it was now than when he'd loaded it.

"Sorry," Downey said before Tony could give anything away. "He has special meals—a new diet, y'know? That was his chow, and he couldn't miss a meal or it would screw things up. We'll hang onto that for the trip home—whenever_ that_ is."

"Yeah, well, okay, I guess," the man said reluctantly, passing the cooler over to Downey. "It's probably the last taste of home you'll have for a while, so I hope you enjoyed it. Welcome to the Sandbox, guys: Your own private preview of Hell." Then he turned and left them to make their own way out of the aircraft.

Tony pulled his hood up and slipped on the cloth headdress that disguised the necessary protection. He pulled the veil over the lower portion of his face, looking now like an odd cross between a ninja and a Bedouin warrior. Special wraparound sunglasses shielded his eyes from deadly sunshine, and gloves covered his hands. Not black, this outfit was all in standard desert camouflage to blend in a bit better with the rest of the troops. The aircrew looked at him a bit oddly as he and Sergeant Downey deplaned, carrying their duffel bags, but no one made any untoward comments. Even the locals ignored his odd dress.

"Downey and Franklinsen?" a soldier asked, shifting away from a Humvee to approach them.

Tony paused a beat, but continued on at Downey's side when his human just nodded in acknowledgment. "This way; the major's waiting for you in HQ," the young stranger said, turning back towards his vehicle. He didn't offer to help with their baggage—not that they _needed_ any help—but it still irritated Tony until he realized that Downey seemed to take this treatment for granted. The sergeant threw his bag into the back of the Humvee, then took the empty cooler from Tony and put that in also. Tony nodded in understanding, then threw his own bag in and climbed into the back seat, while Downey rode shotgun.

"Good flight in?" the driver asked, but he didn't really seem to be paying them much attention. Instead, he watched the people around the area, though none were that terribly close to the landing strip itself.

"Not bad; just long and noisy," Downey answered for them both, but Tony noticed that he, too, was carefully keeping an eye on the locals.

"Having much trouble around here?" Tony ventured to ask, keeping his voice soft and neutral intentionally.

The driver glanced in his rear-view mirror to answer, then froze for an instant. He could see nothing in the rear seat!

"Special suit," Downey quickly said, realizing the problem. "Doesn't reflect in mirrors; bends light rays, or something. Something new they're trying, to fake out video surveillance."

"Shit," the driver breathed, then softly laughed at himself. "Works pretty good, if you ask me! What'll they think of next?

"Anyway," he went on to answer Tony's question,"We've had the odd mortar attack, the occasional suicide bomber. Biggest problem is the IEDs; the sniffer dogs can't always find 'em in time. So we watch the civilians, t' see if anyone's watching to see us go _boom."_

Tony looked at his travelling companion. "I could maybe help with that, a little," he said, then shook his head. "It'd have to be at night, thought; this 'new gear' might interfere too much."

"We'll see what the CO has to say, first," Downey said decisively, not wanting the vampire to say too much in front of someone not 'read in' on their mission.

"Sure thing, Sarge," Tony said, masking his own laughter. The rest of the ride was quiet, the humans keeping a careful eye out for any possible attack. Tony scented the air, trying to sort out all the new smells to be found in the narrow streets they drove through. He thought he caught many scent-trails of fear and anger, but he couldn't be sure, covered as they were by the smell of their transport.

At last they pulled up outside a moderately sized concrete building with sandbags stacked against each wall that Tony could see. Sentries stood guard at the door, but the local people still came too close for comfort, in the vampire's opinion, especially with children darting in and out of the colorful throng. It would be only too easy for the sentries to be fatally distracted.

The driver cut off the engine; this time, he helped them with their gear, lifting out the cooler and carrying it to just inside the door. Tony and Downey followed, leaving their bags beside the empty box. The hallway was a bit wider here, as if for just such a purpose.

"Major's this way, if you'll follow me," the soldier said, heading off without waiting for a response from his former passengers.

They were taken to an office occupied by a harried-looking man in a major's uniform sitting behind a cluttered desk, holding a low-voiced conversation on a sat-phone. He looked up briefly and waved a hand vaguely in their direction, but paid them no further attention. "Yes, sir, I understand… They just got here, General… I'll see to it… Yes, Sir…" he said, then finally hung up the phone and took a good, long look at the two who stood before him. At last, he spoke. "You have quite the impressive record, Sergeant, but _you…_ What makes you so special, Franklinsen, to warrant such close attention from on high? Special needs, special quarters, the sergeant here as your personal babysitter… Just what am I to make of _you?"_

"My name is Tony, Major… Chandler," Tony said, reading the name from the human's uniform. "If you have a secure room—with _no_ windows—I will tell you. Sir," he added belatedly, remembering what Ripper had said about not making the human officers look bad in front of their men.

"No windows, huh?" Major Chandler mused, intrigued despite himself. "We have that, but it's cramped."

"This won't take long, sir," Downey interjected, throwing a cautioning look at Tony.

"This way, then," Chandler said, rising from his desk and heading towards the rear of the building. The room he took them to wasn't all that small, but it had no windows, as requested. It was obviously an interrogation room, furnished with only a table and two chairs. Downey looked over at his charge in concern, but Tony just grinned.

"It's okay, Ben," the vampire said, using the sergeant's given name for the first time. "No one is listening in on us. I'd know," he added, looking back at Chandler. "What did they tell you about me, Major?" he began.

"You're some sorta special 'secret weapon' is all," the major grumbled, finding himself irritated that he couldn't see Franklinsen's face under the odd head covering.

"Ah," Tony breathed, then chuckled. "Yes, leave it to the underlings to have to explain the difficult stuff. I guess you _could_ call me a secret weapon, Major, but I'm actually more of a secret _being. _I've got much better senses than your usual troops: Better vision, _much_ sharper sense of smell. Plus I'm much stronger—much, _much_ stronger than your men. The downside is that my skin can_ not_ be exposed to any sunlight, either directly or through a window, and I have… different dietary needs. In fact, I'll need to speak to your medical director to obtain what I need; I have a letter of authorization with me for that, sir." As he spoke, Tony was removing his sunglasses and head-covering; then he pulled back his hood. He knew what Chandler saw: A tall young man, not too muscular, with dark blond hair and frank gray eyes. He looked almost Scandinavian—until he morphed into gameface. He waited for Chandler to recover his composure—Downey had kept him from drawing his service weapon at the change.

"What the hell _are_ you?!" the major finally managed to gasp, standing frozen in place.

"I'm a vampire, Major," Tony answered calmly. "The sergeant is human; he's been working with me for the last two months, along with some others of my kind. We're all volunteers in military service, sort of an auxiliary unit. We're supposed to be used as an addition to Special Forces patrols, for night-time reconnaissance and infiltration work in difficult situations. _I_ think we might also be useful in finding your hidden explosives, if we knew roughly what they smelled like. Explosives have changed a lot since I was alive, and I didn't really know what those smelled like back then, anyway."

"When you were…" Chandler's voice trailed off briefly; then he gathered himself once more. "You said special dietary needs; that means I'm supposed to believe you eat blood only?" He couldn't quite keep a sneer of derision out of his voice, but Tony decided to let that pass.

"Since joining the military, I've limited myself to bagged blood," he answered carefully. "I'm old enough to have control, Major; it's only the newly turned that are ravening beasts, and then only if their Sire—the vampire who turned them—isn't there to take them in hand. If necessary, I've got good enough control to just snack and run—take some from several donors, leaving them alive and healthy when I go. I _can_ eat animal blood, but it usually tastes awful. I consume three units of human whole blood daily when I'm active, or three units of packed RBCs and two units of fresh-frozen plasma. And I _can_ eat human food, just to keep up a cover, although it does nothing to sustain me and has very little flavor. Ask Sergeant Downey, sir; he's been seeing to my meals since I joined up. Oh, and I _really_ don't like it cold," he added with a smirk of his own.

The major just stared at him in shock, finally noticing that this tall blond rarely breathed, except when speaking, and stood very still. He jerked his gaze over to the sergeant when Downey cleared his throat.

"Sir, all that aside, he really can be useful. We'll just have to warn any unit we're embedded with to expect… inconsistencies, sir. And he _can_ go longer between meals if necessary, out in the field."

Chandler groped for one of the chairs in the room, watching in shock as the bumpy and ridged features of …Tony… seemed to melt back to human normality. "He do that often?" he finally found the composure to ask, looking Downey in the eyes.

The sergeant was unaffected by the vampire's changes; he'd seen them often enough. "Usually only if he's very angry or upset, or about to kill something. His eyes are good indicators of his moods; they'll change to yellow sometimes, until he gets a grip on himself again. And he can just drop his fangs, instead of going into full gameface—that's what that other 'look' is called. He really does have very good control, Major; humans are a vampire's natural prey, so it's remarkable that he can go among us without there being a slaughter. Think lions and gazelles, sir; that's them, and us."

"And I'm willing to be used against my country's enemies, as needed," Tony added calmly, still watching the major. "I have gear that'll let me go out in daylight safely, as you saw, even though I'm at my best after sundown. Any men you assign to me will be safe, Major Chandler; I swear that I won't kill them, or force them into anything they don't want to allow. I may even prove of some use in questioning captives, as I have a bit of thrall."

"He can sometimes make someone think that they _want_ to do whatever he suggests, sir," Downey explained at the major's questioning glance. "He's not dangerous to us; he's not all _that_ strong with it. It's actually a fairly rare ability among vampires—despite what the movies would have you believe."

"I see. And you really are willing to actively _work_ with us?" Chandler asked, not sure if he should believe this or not. "Why?"

"Because my Clan Master asked me to," Tony calmly replied. "Clan—family—is everything. It was enough for me, at least. And it'll protect my humans."

"Don't ask, sir," Downey said with a chuckle at the odd look that Chandler gave him at that. "It's just how vamps view the world: things are either theirs, or not theirs. And it's _much_ better to _be_ theirs, than not."

The major was silent for several seconds, then visibly shook himself. "You said you could possibly smell any nearby explosives?" he asked, skipping over the things he couldn't quite swallow yet.

"Yes, sir," Tony answered, looking happier now that this human appeared to accept him at his word. "I just need an example of what to smell _for."_

Chandler nodded. "Wait here; I'll be right back." He rose from his seat and left the two alone in the interrogation room, wondering what was up now.

A short while later, Chandler returned, a captain carrying a heavy metal box with him. The second man set his burden down on the table and opened it. "This is one of the more common types of IEDs around here," he said, stepping back. "It's had the detonator removed for safety; we haven't had a chance to dispose of this, yet."

Tony looked into the box and took a deep breath, then looked over at Chandler in dismay. "Major, I smelled something very like this when we came into this building. It seemed to originate in several places…"

The major paled. "Show us where!" he ordered sharply.

Tony exchanged glances with Downey, but pulled his hood up and donned his protective gear once more. "Okay," he said, heading for the door, trailed by the shocked bomb disposal tech. "Best call for more help, though. I won't know what to do with 'em once I find 'em for you."

Then he was outside in the sun once more, his senses fully extended in the search for the bombs he'd unknowingly detected.

He stood still for several moments, his head high. He reminded Downey of nothing so much as a dog, searching for game spoor. And then he moved to the right, past the sentries, his head cocked slightly to one side. He continued on about eight feet, then stopped and pointed to the sandbags. "There's something in here," he said, turning his head back towards the major, who'd followed him out. "Got some spray-paint or something? I'll mark 'em as I find 'em. This isn't the only spot that smells like this."

"Sir?" the EOD captain asked, confused now.

Chandler just shook his head. "Go and get one of the dogs for confirmation before we tear down these bags, Captain. And bring some spray-paint. Unfortunately, he's probably right about what we'll find. I just hope no one's out there with a detonator, watching us."

Tony froze a moment, then cocked his head once more, stepping just a bit closer to the sandbags. He stepped away after a few moments, his head high again, and turning slowly, as he tested the air once more; then he started towards the rear of the building. "Downey, come with me a minute," he ordered, but he didn't stop moving.

The sergeant looked at the major and shrugged with a wry grin, but he followed after the vampire. As he rounded the corner of the building, he stopped in shock, for Tony had a local man down on the ground, his hand over the man's mouth.

"Here, hold him and keep him quiet for me; I need his outer robe," Tony said, easily controlling the man's struggles. "You can apologize to him later for me; I smelled someone familiar, off in the crowd a little way. The major's right: Someone's watching the building; same scent is mixed in with the explosives. The dogs can find the rest of the bombs; I'm gonna go catch the maker."

"Tony…" Downey started to protest, but the vampire cut him off.

"Ben, either hold this guy, or I'll just snap his neck; it doesn't matter to me either way. I will _not_ let you get blown up when I can stop it so easy."

Downey didn't hesitate then; he'd known Tony long enough to believe him. He took the small remote from his pocket and flipped a covered switch. "Your chip is off. Try not to kill your target; they'll want to question him." Then he helped the young vampire get his camouflage on—the unfortunate local's robe—and held the man while he watched Tony vanish into the crowd.

It was laughably easy for Tony then. He went around the far corner of the building, blending in with the crowd that had gathered to watch the crazy Americans. He walked right up to his target, who stood back well away from the intended blast zone. Removing his sunglasses, carefully keeping the sun behind him, he jostled the man slightly, noting the small black box he held, ready to grab it if the man resisted him. As the man turned to see who had bumped into him, his eyes were caught by Tony's. He made no effort to resist after that, allowing Tony to take the detonator from him and throw an arm around his shoulders. It was a simple matter, then, of just walking the man back towards the headquarters building.

Tony kept a firm grip on him, for he knew that his control was most likely to slip now. "Major Chandler," he called before they got too close, for the soldiers were very agitated and likely to shoot first and ask questions later, at the moment.

The major swung around, trying to locate who had called him. He saw two local men struggling silently on the edge of the crowd of gawkers, but these were scattering away from the danger zone, seeing only two of their own scuffling. Nothing to start a riot over, here…

Several soldiers started over to break up the fight, but the major heard the vampire's voice shouting, "Call off your men!" The soldiers paused in confusion, glancing at the major, who now cautiously advanced with his men. Suddenly he realized that he recognized the head covering of one of the grappling men. How did the vampire…?

Tony hissed in pain as he inadvertently turned just enough for sunlight to hit his unprotected eyes. He pushed his captive at the soldiers with a curse. "Here, _you_ hold him; it's your job, not mine. I caught the bastard for you," he growled as he pulled out his sunglasses once more and covered his eyes. "Damn, that _hurt!"_ he complained to an astonished Major Chandler. "Oh, yeah; here, he had this in his hand," he added, passing the detonator over to his temporary CO.

"And you went after that man because…?" Chandler cautiously held the detonator, looking from it to the vampire in confusion.

"That's whose scent was all over the explosives, and I could smell 'em on him; he made 'em," Tony simply said, then started back towards the building. He froze as weapons were aimed at him.

"Where's Sergeant Downey?" Chandler demanded, thinking the worst.

"He's around back, hanging onto the guy I got this robe offa. He'd probably like to get it back without any holes, and _I'd_ like to let Ben know that I got the suspect. _Without_ killing him, I might add, although that would 'a been a _whole_ lot easier. Lousy human tried to _bite_ me. _Me!"_ Tony complained in outrage.

Chandler stared at him in disbelief, then waved his men off. He wasn't sure yet, just what this Tony was, but he was sure of one thing: The man (?) was definitely crazy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

There had been six bombs all told; the dog found all but one, which had been placed deeper in the pile of sandbags, and higher up as well. To say that Major Chandler was impressed was an understatement, and rumor moved among the troops about the new Spec Ops guy who could find IEDs seemingly by magic. Tony laughed when Downey told him that as he sat in the small basement room they'd found for him to lair in during the day.

"Yeah, that's nice," Tony agreed a bit sourly once he'd stopped laughing. "I'm not _doing_ anything now, though. I mean, geez, we're just sitting here. It's not like I killed the guy; I didn't even hurt that civilian. I wanna go out on patrol, do _something. _How can I help validate the program if they don't _use_ me?"

"Don't know," Downey said seriously as he passed over the vampire's afternoon ration of blood, then grinned. "Colonel Chandler wants to see you at HQ though, right before dark. Sounds like maybe he'll have something for us then."

A wide smile spread across Tony's face. "All _right!"_ he caroled. "Something to do besides just prowling the rooftops here! I'm so bored I can hardly keep from screaming in frustration. I'll even take some dumb human's orders, just for something to do."

"You'll have to if we go out on patrol; they know the local situation, and we don't. You could endanger all of them without meaning to, if you go off on your own the way you did at HQ the other day," Downey warned. "I may have a lot of combat experience, but I'm not Spec Ops."

"I'll protect you, Ben; don't worry," the vampire hastened to reassure _his_ human. "And if someone does manage to hurt you… well, they won't ever hurt anyone else. I'll see 'em in Hell."

Downey sighed. "Drink your blood, Tony. Look, you can't go killing everyone who threatens me. I'm a soldier; there are risks to this life that I just can't avoid, much as I would like to. Guys like me get shot and killed in the line of duty all the time. Shit happens, whether we like it or not. And you can't blame whoever we're with if it _does_ happen. Got that?"

"Yeah," Tony took a deep breath to sigh, the slight rim of yellow that had appeared in his eyes fading. "I know you're right, Ben, but still… I'm not really a kid—a Childe—anymore. You know that, right? And once I'm acknowledged as a Master, I'll be able to keep Pets of my own. The instincts are here, Ben; I've got the control. I just don't have the status yet. But instinct says that you're _mine, _and I have to protect you. The only thing lacking is my mark on you—that puts my scent on you, for all other demons to sense. I'm not going to let you go, so you just let me know when you can accept that willingly, okay? I _did_ say that I won't be forcing anyone to do something against their will. But I _do_ want to keep you, Ben."

Downey looked at his vampire. He'd talked with the "trained" handlers a little after the other vampires had come in, and they'd explained what little they knew about marking. He knew that it entailed being bitten. Was he willing to allow that? Yes, he'd kind of offered to let Tony snack on him if they got stuck out in the field, but that would be emergency measures. Did he want to stay with military vampires for the rest of his life? What if he met a girl…?

"What if I wanna get married someday?" he blurted out.

"Umm, I suppose you could," Tony cautiously said as he wondered what his human was getting at. "Where would we keep a woman—and children? There doesn't seem to be room down in our quarters for any human families. I would claim them also, naturally, as your family… Do you think that would be a good idea, though? To attach a female to yourself, I mean. You need to move into the quarters next to mine as it is, when we get back to the base…"

Downey stared at the vampire in disbelief, barely preventing a slightly hysterical laugh from escaping at the unreal turn the conversation had taken. He shook his head as he got a grip on himself once more. "No marking for now, okay?" he managed to gulp out.

To his relief, Tony nodded agreeably. "I can wait," he said calmly. "I know you're not ready to commit to me yet. Hope you know, though, that I won't let you die, Ben. I'll turn you—as my Childe, not a minion—if you're in imminent danger of kickin' the ol' bucket. You can stay in the military then, with Ripper an' me." He actually looked pleased as he offered that option, which frightened the human. "Hey, it's okay." Tony sounded somewhat hurt as he hastened to soothe his sergeant, as the scent of fear became apparent in the room. "I'd rather have you alive, Ben; I won't let something happen to you just so's I can have an excuse to turn you. And I'd make sure first that it really was a last resort—C'mon, man, don't go getting all afraid of me, now. That's one of the things I like best about you: You're not afraid of us, unlike most of the other handlers."

"They're afraid of their vampires?" Downey asked, taken by surprise by that statement.

"Oh, yeah; we can smell it on 'em every time they're around us, especially if there's more than one of us there. Kinda stupid of 'em, if you ask me; fear is exciting to us, attracts us. But I guess no one told 'em those pheromones are especially strong.

"Anyway, shouldn't we be getting over to HQ? It's gonna be dark soon," Tony adroitly changed the subject, getting Downey back on track.

"Yeah, it is. Go on an' get your gear on; don't want to keep Chandler waiting, do we?" Downey said with a short laugh, relieved to have the subject changed. He gathered up the empty blood bags and took Tony's mug to rinse out as the vampire donned his protective gear. Then they set out together for the headquarters building and Major Chandler's briefing.

~o~

They were directed to a briefing room this time, instead of the small interrogation chamber. Large pieces of cardboard had been put up to cover the small, high windows; this was causing curious looks from the group of men already assembled there when Tony and Downey arrived.

Chandler looked up as they entered. "Good; we can begin now," he said confidently, but he smelled uncertain to Tony. No one else seemed able to tell, though, so the vampire kept his observations to himself as the human began his briefing. "Lieutenant Andrews, this is Tony, and his escort, Sergeant Downey. Command has sent them to be embedded in some of our forward combat squads, because they believe that Tony has… talents that will prove to be an advantage for us against the insurgents we're facing. I'm sure that, by now, you and your men have heard rumors about the bombs that were detected here several days ago. Tony alerted us to their presence; that much is true. He has highly developed senses and can see and smell signs of danger that we would miss."

One of the men gathered there started to chuckle at that. "Hey, Major, you make him sound like that TV show—you know, _The Sentinel?_ 'Seeing what others do not, hearing what others can't…'" he scoffed, causing the others around him to laugh softly.

Chandler looked put out, but Tony chuckled. "That was a good show; I used to watch it when I could," the vampire said, drawing all eyes to him now. "If you want, you can think of me like that, only I'd be a Sentinel on a diet of blood. What?" he asked as Chandler scowled. "If you're giving me these men as a patrol, they not only have a right to know, but a _need._ Even I know that shit happens, sir; we could get caught out without food for me. I wouldn't hurt _them,_ but I might have to hunt. It's a lot better for 'em to find out now, than to suddenly see me drinking blood in the middle of nowhere."

"You saying you live on blood?" Andrews slowly asked, looking vaguely nauseated at the thought. "What, you think you're a vampire or something?"

Tony beamed at him. "Exactly!" he chirped happily at the man. "A number of us were asked to volunteer for the military; I'm the first to go out to front-line units. And you, apparently, are to be my first team. Great, huh?"

Looks ranging from sheer disbelief to mild panic greeted his statement. Downey sighed and shook his head. "It's true, guys," he said. "I know it sounds crazy, but he really is a vampire; he's even got the scary face to prove it. You know: long fangs, yellow eyes—c'mon, you've seen the TV show about vampires and Slayers? Yeah? Well, someone knew _something; _a lot of it was close enough to real that the military looked into it and asked if some of 'em wanted to serve."

"My Clan Master agreed," Tony cut into Downey's speech. "So here I am. I won't harm anybody given into my care, and I won't kill any of the locals indiscriminately. But my senses are as good as, or better than, any of your patrol dogs, and I can reason around a situation where they can't. Hell, I'm the one who thought to look for the bomb-maker in the crowd the other day; what sniffer dog could think to do that?"

_ "Anyway,"_ Chandler growled with a scowl. "We've heard rumors of a big meeting of a number of terrorist leaders in a village in this area within the next few days," he said, indicating the area in question on a map. "We need to get eyes on that, capture them if possible, get their plans if we can. Command thinks that Tony can get you safely past their sentries and/or close enough to hear something with snooper gear. So you men are the guinea pigs. Try to bring the vampire back in one piece, okay?

"Here's what Intelligence has on the area, and who we think might show up," he continued as he handed packets around to all the men, including Tony and Downey. "If these men are present, if you can't take them alive, take them out. And, as usual, try to avoid any collateral damage.

"That's it; dismissed." And Chandler left the room fast, almost retreating, before the protests could begin.

The humans looked at Tony with suspicion. "Hey," he protested lightly, "I'm in more danger from you than you are from me. There's a whole lot more of you, after all. I only have my sergeant, here, to watch my back. He's human like you; my colonel assigned him to me as a companion so I'd have a true day-walker with me."

"How do ya manage the sunlight, or don't it bother ya?" one man made bold to ask.

"My uniforms are special-made; protective gear, y'know? Look, you don't need to know _how_ it works; it just does." Tony sighed. "I'm an asset to you at night. Sentries won't hear me coming, I can see just fine in near-total darkness, and I don't reflect in mirrors or glass. I only show up on digital imagery, so even some surveillance systems won't pick me up. And once you show me any type of explosive, I'll know what scents to watch out for."

"Can you make us see stuff that's not there?" another asked, feeling bolder.

"I have the ability to thrall, but it's not very strong. You're warned against it now, and anything that breaks my concentration will release whoever I'm holding," Tony admitted willingly. "That terrorist broke free of my control when I called to get Major Chandler's attention; I couldn't do both at once.

"And to save time: silver doesn't hurt me; that's werewolves, who _are_ real, but only a danger on the three nights of the full moon. Holy water burns me; religious items do, too—Christian ones are the worst, because those were my beliefs in life. They make me uncomfortable to be around, but it's knowing that they'll hurt me that repels, not the symbols themselves. And I can only be killed by decapitation, burning—by fire or direct sunlight—or a wooden stake through the heart. Garlic just smells really bad to most of us; Italian vampires kinda like it, though," he finished lightly.

"And he has Kevlar plates front and back in his uniforms to protect him from stray fragments of wood," Downey added, glaring at one of the men who looked really uncomfortable. "He hasn't hurt anyone here; he preferred to snack instead of killing before he joined up. So leave him alone, got it?"

"Yeah, well, we don't have a choice here," Lieutenant Andrews said unhappily as he finished looking over his orders more closely, and then glanced around, catching the eyes of each of his men in turn. "We got him for the next three weeks, guys; we're responsible for his safety, just as if he was a civilian embedded with our unit. So man up and accept it; we're stuck with both of 'em. Now read up, draw rations, and hit the can; we move out in one hour."

And that seemed to be that; all protests ended as the men headed out to prepare for their mission, although many unhappy looks were sent Tony's way. He just grinned at them, still carefully maintaining his human mask.

~o~

They pulled out as the sun went down, a small convoy of four heavily armored Humvees, loaded with equally heavily armed humans and one lone vampire. Tony sighed in relief as darkness fell, although he knew that it would soon be very cold. The desert areas were odd that way: roasting during the day and frigid at night. The humans were either too hot or too cold for comfort, but still they lived here. No doubt there were demons here also, but he'd been too busy to bother looking for any. That wasn't why he was here, anyway.

It was night now, _his_ time to roam the earth—not that he could really enjoy it right now. He was trapped in a noisy, smelly box with humans who feared him. He couldn't even warn them about roadside explosives, since they were going too fast for him to locate any. The roads were little more than rutted sand and rock, and the few villages they went through were collections of mud-brick buildings and what seemed to be thrown-together piles of debris. All the fighting in the area had really hurt the populace, he realized, leaving most in little more than abject poverty. And yet they kept on fighting over how one group or another chose to pray. Sometimes Tony just could not understand humans at all.

At last, just before dawn, they pulled into a group of abandoned, nearly-destroyed warehouses. "We should still have a couple'a days before the meeting," Lieutenant Andrews said to the men as they quietly gathered around him. "The suspected insurgents shouldn't even start arriving until sometime tomorrow night, with most coming in the next night. So we'll hole up here today, and tonight we'll see how close we can get. See if Tony, here, can find us a way in, once we identify exactly which building they'll be using.

"Set sentries; the rest of you eat, then get as much rest as you can. Mixon, you and Samuels set up that shelter over there for our sun-allergic contingent, so he won't hafta worry about any stray sunbeams today."

The men chuckled good-naturedly as the two Andrews had singled out, moved to comply. They soon had a small, freestanding two-man tent erected, and Tony gratefully moved into its protective embrace. He'd still keep most of his own special gear on, but the additional security would let him rest better. Downey spread out a pad in front of the small tent's entrance and settled himself as comfortably as possible. He could hear Tony rummaging around in his pack, then the sound of the vampire swallowing, so he knew that Tony was hitting his own supply of food. He'd be eating light, since they didn't know just how long they'd be out in the field. The blood they'd brought would just have to last.

Slowly the long, hot day crawled past. While they had some shade, the remains of the old warehouse's walls blocked out any breeze there might have been, making the men feel as if they were trying to sleep in an oven. That, and the gritty sand that seemed to get in everywhere, made for a miserable day. But they were used to it; they might complain about the conditions among themselves, but they never let it interfere with the performance of their duty. Thus, as soon as the sun was down once more, they were on the move again, this time on foot.

They each wore hands-free comm. gear—ear buds and throat mikes. Tony reveled in being free of his hood, letting the night breeze sift through his short hair. He, at least, didn't need any night-vision equipment, although the sight of his yellow eyes glowing in the dark had more than one man in the patrol crossing himself to ward off evil.

The situation at the village, when they finally found a vantage point, was not good. It was easy enough to figure out which building was going to be used: it was the one with all the armed guards hanging around it, the one smack dab in the middle of civilian housing, with no good covert approach. There would be too many civilian casualties if they called in an air strike, even a laser-guided one, for that course of action to be acceptable.

No, the situation did not look good at all.

"What about a suicide bomber?" Tony suddenly asked after they'd pulled back a ways to discuss what they'd all observed.

"Sorry, uh, Tony; we don't do that sort of thing, and we were told to bring you back in one piece, not little bloody bits," the lieutenant said a bit regretfully.

Tony just waved that away negligently. "I wouldn't be in little bits in that case; I'd turn to dust. But I didn't mean one of us. One of _them_ could just walk in there, don't you think? If we could catch one…"

"I thought your thrall wasn't that good; 's what you told us back at base," one of the patrol's sergeants said suspiciously.

"It's not," Tony agreed, starting to get irritated at all the interruptions. "There are other ways to get someone to do this, especially if we have a day or so to set this up. We'd need to catch two of them, actually, although you probably won't like how I'd have to do this," he admitted unhappily with a quick glance at Downey.

"What are you suggesting doing, Tony?" Downey asked, becoming suspicious himself. He'd seen that glance and wondered just what his vampire was up to.

"Ben, a minion'd do anything his Sire wanted; they only want to please. I know you've heard that, talking to the other handlers. I'll need a second prisoner, though, because the minion'll be ravenous when he rises…"

They stared at him in incredulous shock at first. Then, "You mean you'd… you're suggesting intentionally killing _two_ men, just so we can blow them up?!" Andrews finally managed to choke out.

Tony shrugged. "It wouldn't be _just_ to blow them up; I'll also get a full meal out it, instead of short rations. Besides, you don't want innocent casualties, but you need to take out those leaders. I'm assuming you'd also like to know exactly who was there; you need someone on the inside for that. It's the best solution _I_ can think of to achieve all your objectives. Plus I can go in afterwards in a robe and see if there are any survivors, if need be; can help you interrogate any left alive, maybe. _And_ your guys won't be at risk if this goes south."

"How would we know who's there if we blow up our 'inside man,' Tony?" Downey asked, nowhere near as upset by this plan as he felt he probably should be. He was too used to the way the vampires thought, he supposed. It was still a hideous plan, but he could see where it would make sense to Tony.

"Plant one of the comm. units in with the explosives on his chest, under his robes," Tony said, getting into planning this as if they'd all already agreed to it. "The minion would hear it clear enough for us to give him directions, but any human, even one right next to him, wouldn't be able to hear it. And we'd hear everything that was said anywhere close by—I could have him name everyone present as he saw them. That way, you can decide when it will be worth it to blow the bomb, Lieutenant."

"How can you propose blowing up your own Childe like that?" Downey asked, appalled.

"Minion, Ben; _not_ a Childe," Tony corrected carefully. "Minions are created to serve, and die, at their Sire's whim. A Childe is made when you want to keep someone around, a companion for the ages. I have no desire to keep one of these zealots around for all eternity. You may think that _my_ kind are vicious animals, but we just kill for food, to survive—even if we do play with our food sometimes. What's their excuse? Because someone else prays differently? Please… that's just crazy. Besides, you plan to kill them anyway, if you can't capture them. I don't see what the difference is," Tony finished up, then waited to see just what the humans would decide to do.

~o~

In the end, they'd stopped a suspicious-looking pickup truck with three men in it late that night. They'd identified them as a minor leader and two of his men; Tony took the important one off a ways to drain and turn him, since the humans were still acting very squeamish about this. He had them set up his tent in a different warehouse from where they'd bedded down, not wanting to risk having one of his patrol bitten by accident when the new-made minion rose. He had food for him: a hardened veteran of these wars, a true-believing fanatic that Tony felt they'd be better off without. He had his own plans for the last of their captives—emergency rations for himself, if this mission took too long.

They had the explosive vest made and on the new vampire before he rose; he took no notice of it, fixating on his Sire and the meal Sire provided. Once fed, he gazed adoringly at his Sire, willing to do anything asked of him. He snarled at Sire's humans—but he only made that mistake once.

It was child's play to aim him at the meeting, for he retained vague memories of a need to go to that place and be among those men. With Tony's voice to guide him, he moved among them, appropriately greeting each man he saw, for their identities were firm in his memory.

At last Lieutenant Andrews decided that all were there who were coming that night; they'd listened in on some discussion of plans, but it seemed that the main meeting would be the next night. They couldn't wait that long—the minion wouldn't pass muster, come daylight and, without the leaders to disseminate the instructions, whatever they were planning would be a no-go, anyway—so Tony finally gave the command that had the walls of the small building blowing out, leaving only shredded remains behind. The comm. gear, Lieutenant Andrews hoped, would have been destroyed in the blast; any surviving guards would only remember seeing their own going into the building, and the damage within could only be explained by there being a traitor in their midst.

The soldiers pulled back to the warehouses to rest for the day; they would return to base the next night.

"What're we gonna do with him, Lieutenant?" one of the men asked, nodding over at the bound, gagged, and blindfolded prisoner. "He don't know anything worth hauling him back for; we can't let anyone know we was here, but we can't leave any bodies around, either."

"If you let me?" Tony asked politely, despite the scowls aimed his way. "The other'll rise tomorrow night, before we leave; I was gonna stake him anyway. If I turn this one, then stake him too, there'll be no body to find. We turn to dust when we go to our final death, along with whatever is on our bodies at the time."

"So _that's_ why nobody will find our comm. set!" someone realized.

"Yeah, that's right," Tony confirmed. "Besides, I'm getting low on my rations; I could stand another good, full feed… and fresh tastes better than bagged, anyway. Just so's ya know."

The lieutenant looked at the politely-waiting vampire, then around at his men. Finally, he shrugged and sighed. "He wouldn't hesitate to kill us—of course, that's the difference between them and us. But, hey, waste not, want not. Just—take him over there, and make it quick, okay? I don't think that any of us need to watch."

"Not a problem, sir," Tony agreed, then picked up his dinner and carried him outside as if the man weighed nothing at all.

"He could'a just taken him at any time, couldn't he?" the lieutenant asked Downey.

The sergeant looked uncomfortable before finally answering. "Yeah, he could'a, but he swore to obey all lawful orders from the officers placed over him. He really is trying to play by our rules, Lieutenant; it's just hard, ya know? He's fighting his own nature, here."

"And he's doing a damned fine job of it, too," Andrews gave reluctant praise, not even realizing that Tony could hear him from where he'd just finished his meal and the turning.

Tony smiled to himself, content that he had done his Clan and Line proud.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The rest of their deployment passed unremarkably. They did a few more simple night patrols, although nothing came of them, and Tony found another IED, one they'd gotten a tip about. That one was in full daylight and caused a mild stir among the locals. A rumor began to spread of the demon—or whatever it was—that helped the infidels, so just maybe Allah was not pleased by the fighting, or why would He allow such to move among His people? Panic was averted, though, because there were no mysterious deaths in the area. Tony, having heard the rumors, was very carefully "bagging it" and staying out of sight as much as possible.

He'd spent some more time with Lieutenant Andrews' patrol and had even gone out with them for a movie one evening. It had been among the base personnel, and the young vampire had found it amusing, the way _his_ humans had placed themselves protectively around him, keeping all others at a slight distance. And it was clear that they were protecting _him,_ and not just keeping him away from the other humans. That had been a good night, he thought with a slight smile.

Now, though, they were going home. Once more he was penned up in that noisy behemoth of an airplane—a C-130, he'd learned it was called—for far too long. As a safety precaution, he'd had Downey reactivate his chip, since he'd found that this type of flying made him more than a little irritable. Something about the frequency of the vibrations, he guessed. But they would be landing soon, and he had to admit that he was looking forward to his nice cool quarters once more. Not to mention being among others of his own kind. But he was still going to do everything he could to keep Sergeant Downey for his own.

~o~

A car was waiting for them at the landing strip of the airbase when they deplaned. It was dark, so Tony gratefully forewent the protective headgear. He breathed deeply of the cold winter air and felt invigorated. Yes, it got cold at night in desert regions, but the air here, just as cold, was _alive_ in a way that the other was not. Maybe it was the scent of the trees, even though they were winter-dormant, he mused.

"You okay now?" Downey broke into his thoughts to ask.

"Sorta. Best wait 'til we get back to quarters, though," Tony replied to the unvoiced portion of the human's question.

"You got it. You _do_ know that we hafta debrief now, right?"

"Yeah, an' won't _that_ be fun," Tony sighed, then cracked a grin. "I can just see their faces when they find out how—"

"Not here, Tony," Downey cut him off quickly. "Information security—what happens on a mission, _stays_ on a mission, except during debriefing. You never know who might be listening, and you never know what you might inadvertently give away about an ongoing mission you haven't been told about. It's complicated, all right? Just trust me on this."

"Sure, Ben. Whatever," Tony agreed with a shrug, damping his enthusiasm. He'd tell Ripper, though, he decided. As unit Master, he had the right to know what had happened, no matter what the humans said.

They were driven back to their base in silence then, straight into the receiving bay of their bunker. Major Fielding was there to meet them with a relaxed smile. "Welcome back, men," he said easily, his voice betraying no tension. "Go on and grab a meal and a shower. We'll see you in Conference Two in the morning, after you've gotten some sleep. That'll be at 0800, Tony."

"I want Ripper there, Major." Tony tried to sound respectful, but feared he failed.

The human, however, just grinned at him. "Naturally," he said easily. "He's your CO; he _has_ to be there. You'll tell us—that'll be me, Master Ripper, and Colonel Townsend—what you saw, did, and thought. Then we'll talk to Sergeant Downey and ask him the same questions. Finally, we'll talk to both of you together, if we think it's necessary, to see what you've missed on your own, see what memories you spark in each other."

And so Tony and Downey parted ways, each to seek his own meal and quarters. A strange soldier brought in two bags of warm human blood for Tony, and the vampire realized just how much he missed _his_ human already. But he thanked the man politely enough, drank his blood, took a shower, and peeked through the curtain into Ripper's room.

"Hey, stranger, good to see you back in one piece," the older vampire said with a soft smile, extending one arm out in invitation.

Tony needed no further welcome than that; he melted against his surrogate Sire with a happy sigh.

~oOo~

"Oh, and he had me reactivate his chip for the flight home," Downey finished up his own statement thoughtfully. "He said it shouldn't be a problem, but just to be on the safe side, since the plane ride was a real strain on him. He didn't seem to have any trouble with control at any time during the deployment. Yeah, he really squicked the guys out when he suggested that suicide bomber, and then him removing any evidence of the captives, but I honestly believe that he wouldn't have drunk 'em dry if Lieutenant Andrews had said no. He got along with all the guys real good while we were there, too."

"So in your opinion, Sergeant, Tony is definitely mission-ready?"

"Oh, yeah, sir; no doubt about it." Downey paused for thought before continuing. "He _does_ need to have someone with him, though. Not for control; for companionship. He'll hunt by himself quite happily, but he seems more at ease if there's someone familiar around him when he sacks out."

"Has he tried to claim you, Sergeant?" Ripper asked, watching the human closely for any sign of nervousness or unease.

"No, although he told me flat-out that he wants to," Downey confessed, trying not to admit to the mixed feelings he had on the topic. "I'd told him I'd let him snack in an emergency; he seemed to understand the difference. He said he was willing to wait until I was 'ready to accept him.' Sirs, I don't know if I want to keep doing this the rest of my life. Oh, and he also said he'd claim any kids I might have if I got married. What am I supposed to make of that?"

"You should take that as a compliment, Downey," Ripper said, his voice gentle. "It means that Tony thinks _very_ highly of you; most Pets aren't allowed to have any close associations outside of their Masters. Tony wants you happy, though, so he's willing, apparently, to allow you extreme latitude in your relationship. Are you going to accept him?"

"I'm not a pet!" Downey snarled in vexation.

"It's not like you think, Ben. Among our kind, humans are food, Pets, or, sometimes, Consorts and Mates. That last is very rare. A Pet is a position in a Court—a protection for a favored human. All of you handlers are considered by us here to be Pets—that's why you're safe with us," Ripper explained. "You, personally, are in a bit more of a precarious position, since neither Tony nor I have actually claimed you. You carry no one's mark; the others aren't sure if it's because we can't decide which of us will actually take you, or if it's because you were found wanting. You're going to have to decide if you'll keep working with us or not, and sooner rather than later. I'll happily claim you if you don't want Tony, although he'll be disappointed."

"I'll… have to think about it," Downey said, his voice showing his unhappiness and uncertainty.

"You do that, son," Colonel Townsend said before dismissing the young soldier. He looked at Ripper then, as the Sergeant shut the door behind himself. "Sounds like this is going to work well, Master Ripper," he said, a pleased look in his eyes. "You have any other pairs ready to go out?"

"There are three others now," Ripper said, getting down to business. "They really settled down once Tony deployed; they finally, truly believe that you mean to let them go and fight with the soldiers. With Tony back, the rest will apply themselves. Especially since I'm elevating Tony to Master. He showed he has the control for it, and showed that he understands his own shortcomings. This is a vampire thing, not a military decision, Colonel," he cautioned as he saw Townsend about to speak.

Townsend just smiled. "Wasn't going to argue with you about it, Master Ripper. I _was_ going to suggest, though, that we make a formal, public ceremony of it among the rest of the unit. For incentive, perhaps?"

Ripper nodded. "I would have to do it in a formal Court anyway, for the other vampires here. It won't hurt to have the handlers, and perhaps you, Major Fielding, and the trainers present also. I hope Sergeant Downey decides to accept Tony, since that would be the perfect occasion to publicly take him as his first Pet." At their slight looks of confusion, he explained, "Masters take and keep Pets, and sometimes Stables. Childer don't keep either; they don't normally have adequate control. These here do, but only because of the chips."

"Ah, I see. Well, when would you like to do this ceremony?" Townsend asked, running his schedule through his head.

"Two nights from now; would 2200 work for you, Colonel?" the vampire politely inquired.

"Wednesday night? Works for me," Townsend agreed with a nod. "You want me to speak to Downey?"

"No; I will, tomorrow. He still needs time to think about this, especially since he'll need to let Tony bite him, in public after this long a delay."

"He won't…"

"Tony will not drain him, nor will he take enough to put him in any danger. He _will_ bite hard enough to leave a permanent scar for all to see, which he will then renew periodically. Once every month or so, although he won't take much blood each time. He might take some at other times also—but never enough to do him any harm—it's part of the relationship. That's why Downey has to be willing, Colonel; he's aware of at least some of this."

"And if he has a family?" Townsend asked in concern.

"Oh, Tony might nip a finger every now and then—more symbolic than anything," Ripper tried to reassure the humans now. "It would be enough to protect them, to extend the claim on Ben to cover them. Tony wouldn't hurt them, because that would hurt Ben. He really _is_ fond of Downey."

Townsend and Fielding exchanged glances, then the Colonel nodded slowly. "All right, then. Wednesday night, 2200 hours it is. Do we need to do anything else?"

"Not really. Just view it as one of your award ceremonies, but warn all humans attending not to interfere, no matter what they see or hear."

"Good enough. That should be everything, then. Have a good day's sleep, Master Ripper," Townsend said in dismissal.

"You too, Colonel, Major," the vampire said, rising to return to his quarters and the younger vampire who waited for him there.

~oOo~

Tony paused in the hallway, his packed duffle- and go-bags in his hands, to look at the nameplate outside his quarters. He still got a surge of pride seeing it; he could hardly keep from running his fingers over the embossed surface.

**_Master_ Tony (Anthony)**

**chi-Franklin of Aurelius**

He shivered in pleasure as he remembered the public acknowledgement he'd gotten of a job well done from his Nest Master. He could only do better now, after that start to his new career, and he had applied himself accordingly in the two weeks since his elevation in status. He now understood both Farsi and Urdu—though he still had a little trouble actually speaking them—thanks to the highly retentive memory of a vampire. He wouldn't have to rely on translators anymore, for those two at least, and he was determined to pick up even more languages while in each new area of operation.

"You ready to go, Tony?"

The vampire looked over with a large smile of welcome as his Pet—publicly taken, as was proper—Sergeant Downey came out of his own quarters next door. The human was still a bit hesitant to move into his arms for a bite, but he was loosening up nicely. Yes, all was right in Tony's world, and this new assignment would only make things better.

A new and exciting adventure, in a new part of the world. Julianna, the Aurelian minion, was going to Tony's formerly assigned area in Iraq; he and Downey were going to Afghanistan this time, to seek out the Taliban and Al-Qaida in the rugged hills of the backcountry.

"Ready, willing, and _more_ than able," he answered his Pet with a wide smile of anticipation and a barely restrained skip in his step as he turned to walk beside the human. "You have my remote?"

"Still want to go active for the flight?" Downey asked in turn, slightly surprised.

"Yes. No need to ask for trouble. I don't really like those big airplanes," Tony answered with no shame. "I've suggested that the others go active also during transport—Kelly and Mitch both agreed that it wouldn't hurt to take precautions." Two other vamp/handler pairs were going to Afghanistan with them, although they'd be going to different areas of the country. Master Kelly would be close to the Pakistan border to the west, while Mitch and his human partner would be farther south and east. Tony, as the most experienced, had been assigned to the troubled northern areas.

"Well, I'm not gonna borrow trouble," Downey agreed. "You're probably smart to have made that suggestion, since they've never flown before, either."

"At least I know enough to handle my own travel cooler now, so the aircrew doesn't get suspicious again," Tony chuckled as they approached the loading bay and their waiting transport. Their airplane waited at the neighboring airbase, with one long, miserable flight in the future. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to be upset about it, although he was sure he'd change his mind once they were airborne.

~oOo~

The smells were similar, but different. The air here smelled more of rock than sand, although the crowd looked… No; the style of over-robes worn here was different. The men were more colorful, but, to Tony's eye, the women slunk about in too much black, trying not to be noticed in the streets. There was also more fear-scent in the air, mostly from the women. All this he noticed in the short ride from the airstrip to the base area.

There was better security here, he saw; the locals were kept farther away. The city itself didn't show as much battle-damage as he'd seen in Iraq, although no doubt matters would be different in the smaller villages. There was a strange mixture—collision, really—of Eastern and Western cultures, at least in terms of men's wear. Tony saw men in traditional garb alongside others in business suits and native headgear. He'd seen some of that in Iraq, too, but it seemed more prevalent here.

The Coalition soldiers were conspicuous in their lack of facial hair; Tony would have a hard time blending in with the crowd, should the need arise.

The colonel in charge here had clearly been better briefed. He looked at the vampire with some suspicion, but he didn't question Tony's presence there.

Tony grinned as he handed over his and Downey's orders. "Master Anthony of Aurelius and Sergeant Downey reporting for duty, sir," he said in a soft voice. He stood straight, not quite at attention, causing the colonel—the desk plate gave his name as Roger Blake—to look at him somewhat askance, although he didn't comment. He just flipped through the papers he'd been handed, then looked up at the two men in front of him.

"At ease," he finally said. Downey complied; Tony just slouched a bit more. Colonel Blake looked at Tony more closely. "You'll be going out to join one of my best units," he said, choosing his words with care. "They tend to do extended patrols among some of the more remote villages. Your… special rations may be difficult to come by; how do you intend to deal with that?"

Tony shrugged. "I can gorge a bit while I'm on base, and go short on patrol. There's always wildlife and livestock near villages—I don't _have_ to kill when I eat. You probably won't get all the insurgents we capture back here at base, and if things get really tough, I can snack on anyone in the patrol who's willing to allow it. The last option is strictly their choice, Colonel; I won't force any man who's been given into my care. Sergeant Downey can attest to that, sir."

"I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't thrilled to receive these orders announcing your inclusion… umm, did you say your proper title is 'Master'?" Colonel Blake candidly stated. "But I _do_ follow my orders, whether I think them wise or not. _Lawful_ orders, that is."

"Yes, it's 'Master,' but you can just call me Tony; I'm aware that most humans find my proper title… uncomfortable, since your own history gives it some rather negative connotations. It's actually meant to be more like 'sir' or 'lord' to most of you; only my own people, and my own humans, really need to call me that," Tony glossed over the issue. He'd had a long talk with Colonel Townsend, Major Fielding, and Ripper about how most humans viewed the very concept of 'master' as it related to them. "It's a rank among my people as much as anything. You know, like Apprentice, Journeyman, Master craftsman?"

"You don't have any military rank listed…"

"No, I'm afraid not, Colonel," Tony admitted with a sigh, then grinned. "I _did_ make PFC just before I was turned, back in the late '60s. You could view me as a tech of some kind; like a civilian contractor?"

"What about you, Sergeant Downey? Are you comfortable with this?" Blake turned his attention to the human soldier before him.

"Yessir," Downey said, then shrugged. "I'm still in the military chain of command, but I take my orders from Tony; I've… sworn to him, I guess you could say. I have an actual rank among the vamps of our unit, even if most of our own command has a hard time keeping it straight."

Colonel Blake quirked an eyebrow at him, causing Downey to grin. "Okay, here goes. I'm the favored human of Master Ripper's younger sibling and lieutenant. Master Ripper is the Nest Master—he outranks every other vamp in the unit, and most of his remaining Clan; Tony is a Master in his own right, and also outranks the others since he's from the Nest Master's clan. If either of those two had any Childer, _they'd _outrank me; the other Masters in the unit are _my_ equals, and I outrank all the Childer. And regardless of military rank, I outrank all the other handlers _and_ trainers, by virtue of being Tony's favored human. The only officers who outrank me in our unit are Colonel Townsend and Major Fielding, and Ripper outranks the major. That's according to vamp rating."

"That's supposed to make sense?" Blake asked, nearly laughing at the convolutions.

"Hey, sir, it works for them," Downey grinned back. "And that doesn't take into account their own Clan and Line statuses. Now _that's __**really**_ crazy, sorta like precedence among English aristocracy."

"And, fortunately, not my problem."

"No, sir," Tony agreed. "You only need to be aware of the fact that we—Sergeant Downey and I—outrank both the other vamp-ler teams that are currently in-country."

"Duly noted—son," Blake said with a quirk of his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He watched, puzzled, as Tony's eyes briefly turned a brilliant yellow before reverting to blue-gray. "What was _that?"_ he asked, wondering if he'd imagined the change.

Tony visibly re-gathered his composure. "Sorry, sir," he forced out stiffly. "I sometimes still take offense where I know it's not really intended. _That,_ as you put it, is a sign that my temper is somewhat volatile. I _do_ have control of it, though."

Blake looked at him, then finally shook his head. "I'll have someone show you where the hospital is; they've already been alerted to your special needs. They'll also show you where the mess hall is and see that you're assigned appropriate quarters while you're here with us. Get yourselves settled in; I'll have someone come get you later to meet with your team. If you have no further questions…? Okay then; dismissed." Blake watched as Sergeant Downey came to attention—even Tony straightened back up—then the two "specialists" turned and left.

Colonel Blake just looked down at his own orders again and prayed that High Command knew what the _hell_ they were doing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Tony sat quietly, watching the men who shared his vehicle as they drove out to the forward base. These men were harder-feeling, more predatory than the ones he'd worked with in Iraq—and he'd not met their CO yet. They were going back to their unit now after having a few days off, back in so-called civilization. Colonel Blake may have accepted him, but it remained to be seen how Captain DaSilva and his men would react.

The forward base looked much like the small villages they'd passed, a cluster of brick and stone buildings, placed around a central well, with men and women going about their daily lives and children playing in the street. For the most part, the people ignored the soldiers as much as possible, for the business of staying alive out here was too demanding to waste time gawking at soldiers they'd grown accustomed to.

The unit's headquarters was in a slightly larger building, reinforced by sandbags, much like the one he'd seen in Iraq. Inside was one large-ish area, with the now-familiar map-boards up at one end near a rather neat desk. The man seated there wore no distinguishing rank insignia—now that Tony thought about it, none of the soldiers he'd seen so far had any markings on their uniforms. He looked around himself more carefully and nodded. There would be no saluting out here; the hilly, rocky country provided too many vantage points for snipers. He couldn't prevent a grin from crossing his face at the thought of not having to deal with _that_ idiocy, but it quickly faded as the hard face of the captain turned his way.

"Franklinsen and Downey?" he asked in a no-nonsense voice.

_"Tony_ and Downey, Captain," the vampire responded, just as unbending. "Long story short, I'm something out of your nightmares, here to give your enemies a lot o' sleepless nights. I drink blood, yadda, yadda, creature of the night. And, I might add, at your command."

It took DaSilva aback, made him re-evaluate the situation. "I'd… heard rumors a few years back, dark tales from guys who talked too much when they drank. So now I got my own personal nightmare, huh? And the sergeant, here?"

"He's here to keep me company—someone who'll treat me like I've actually got a brain in my head, and not like just a walking appetite," Tony answered bluntly. "Treat me right, an' I'll be someone _else's_ nightmare. We _are_ night-walkers, after all; 'Hunters under the Moon,'" he added with a wicked smirk.

"Whatever," the captain sighed, studying his newest problem more closely. "You have _any_ military training? Any combat experience… Tony?"

"Enlisted in the '60s; made PFC. They gave all of us some training at Bragg before sending us out here. I know modern comm gear; I can shoot—marksman, qualified on both pistol and rifle. Had a good bit of formal hand-to-hand training with SpecOps instructors, too. Downey an' I were deployed in Iraq last month for a coupla weeks. I'm pretty good at sniffing out IED's; just show me some of the local stuff first, and I..."

At that point their conversation was interrupted by an incoming mortar round. Screams could be heard outside, and small-arms fire was being fiercely returned.

A soldier burst into the building, exclaiming, "Captain, it's that damned—"

"No shit," DaSilva cut him off. "Go _find_ that bastard this time!" he ordered, angry now; and then he realized that only Downey was still there, fumbling with what looked like a small remote control of some sort.

Ben could feel the captain's eyes on him and gave a grim smile as he pocketed the device. "Tony will get them for you, sir. No guarantee that they'll be alive when he's done with them, though. You didn't specify _that."_

"Sergeant, I don't care if they're in itty-bitty pieces," DaSilva snarled. "They've shelled this village—just one or two shells at a time—every three days or so for the last two months, and we haven't been able to either stop them _or_ find them afterwards. Just your bad luck to pick today to come in; they're why we won't let a news crew embed with us. Can't risk civilians here, with this shit going on; we never know what time they'll strike, day or night, and the locals won't rat them out for us. They just bitch afterwards that we're not protecting them…"

"Oh, yeah. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, wore it out—and used it for bandages after the party," Downey groused in sympathy, then smirked slightly. "If Tony doesn't get them now, he'll track them once it gets dark, and pull them outta whatever hole they crawl into. He really is a creature of the night, sir." He fell silent as a lull came in the sound of the firing, and the two men paused their conversation, held their breaths, waiting to see if the quiet would hold, trying to judge if the action was over. Then there was a sudden short burst of automatic-weapons fire, followed by a startled scream of terror, then silence.

"Sounds like Tony may have found your insurgents, Captain," Downey said in the stillness before anxious voices could be heard calling to one another among the locals, but it was still quite some time before Tony returned to the headquarters building. He was limping heavily from a wound in one leg, and blood streamed down his arm, smoking in the sunlight from the holes in his uniform.

"Oh, shit, Tony!" Downey exclaimed, pushing the concerned medic away from his vampire, in his haste to see to the wounds.

"There's still a slug in m' leg, Ben," Tony muttered, leaning against the wall, well out of the sun's reach.

"Tony, let the medic do his job," Downey began as he eased the vampire down onto a nearby bench.

"Just hadda get outta th' sun." Tony was slurring his words more now, as Downey waved the medic back over to him.

"You hit anywhere else?" Downey was easing the shirt off his charge now, looking over the top half of his body. He ripped open a packet of bandages, carried for emergencies, and wrapped the gauze around the gash in Tony's arm. "Just dig that bullet out; I'll explain later," the sergeant said to the medic, who was about to protest the lack of proper cleaning. Muttering to himself about crazy SpecOps types, the man slit Tony's trousers to get at the wound, then did as instructed, slapping a pressure bandage down on the hole left in the vampire's upper leg.

"I think that's it," the man said, then gaped in shock, horror-stricken, as Downey pulled his own shirt off and offered his arm to Tony, who promptly went into gameface and bit him.

The medic and Captain DaSilva were frozen in place as they watched the pale newcomer drink from the sergeant's arm, but he was soon licking the bite-wound closed and gently pushing Downey away. Ben looked at the medic calmly. "I need two units of whole blood here, for Tony to drink. It doesn't matter what type; if you don't have that, two packed cells and one FFP (1) will do the trick—he'll eat the plasma like a Popsicle if it's not thawed. Warm the blood bags to body temp first, if possible, please; he doesn't really like it cold.

"I take it he got the mortar crew?" DaSilva asked, his voice dry.

Downey's nonchalant acceptance just made the situation seem more bizarre to his audience. He had to grin at DaSilva. "Like I said, sir, creature of the night, stalker in the shadows. He's gonna need someplace the sun can't hit him, to sleep this off and heal up. I'll see that he comes and talks to you again once he wakes up, okay, sir?"

"Yeah; that'll be fine, Sergeant," DaSilva said, watching as the sergeant pulled Tony's bloody shirt back over the vampire's shoulders, and pulled up a hood to cover most of his head.

"Sunlight's bad, sir. Don't want vamp _flambeau,_ do we?"

"Not hardly," DaSilva said, then seemed to snap out of his shock. "Mason!" he called to one of a nearby group of gawkers that Downey hadn't noticed until then. "Go put up a cot in the back storeroom for now. The one with no windows."

"Uh, yessir!" the young soldier so addressed answered, pulled out of his own shock-induced daze, and moved off confidently now that he had clear orders to follow. Downey followed him, half-carrying the wounded vampire.

"Captain?" another man said from the main doorway. "Whatcha want us t' do with th' bodies?"

"Best see they're handled respectfully, though it's not what I _want_ you to do," DaSilva grumbled. "See if any of the locals want to claim 'em. How were they taken out—and how many are we talking about?"

"Three-man crew, Cap," the soldier answered, awe in his voice. "Two with broken necks; the third looks like some big critter tore his throat out. Plus there are some stray bullet-holes in 'em, but _that_ ain't what killed 'em."

"No; _Tony_ is what killed 'em." DaSilva let himself smile grimly now. "They think _they_ rule the night around here; that they can move safely in the dark? They're about to learn differently, 'cause we've got something special here now. Tell the men _not_ to discuss this among themselves; I don't want the locals overhearing anything about Tony. I'll hold a briefing tomorrow. And then the fun will start."

~oOo~

"Hey—Downey, right?"

Ben Downey turned to look at the speaker. The man set his tray down on the table across from him and smiled slightly. "Mind if I join you?"

"Come ahead," Downey said, sighing internally—_now_ the questions would start. They did, but they weren't the ones he'd expected.

"He gonna be okay?" the man asked, and Downey realized that it was one of the gawkers from earlier.

"Yeah; he'll heal up without even a scar," the sergeant answered, offering no more information than that.

_"That's_ good, at least," the other said, sounding as if he actually meant it. "He gonna be up to havin' visitors soon?"

Downey looked surprised, sitting back from his tray to study the other man. "Visitors?"

"Yeah," the soldier answered with a self-deprecating grin. "We wanna thank him; those ragheads were makin' life here miserable for all of us, and hurtin' the women and kids in the village. But by the time _we_ could locate their position, they'd be gone. That boy of yours is _good,_ Sarge. And _fast_, when he wants to be."

"You have _no_ idea," Downey grinned back; then his face closed and he shook his head. "He'll be up tomorrow sometime; you guys can see him then. And then maybe we'll find out what kinda problems you're having out here, so's there'll be no more surprises like today."

"Fair enough," the man agreed, then adroitly turned the conversation to less sensitive topics as they finished their meal in quiet camaraderie.

The medic was hovering around the closed door to the small storeroom when Downey returned from his dinner. Ben just looked at him and shook his head, then motioned him over to one side. "He'll know you're out here, and won't sleep as well as he needs to," he explained carefully. "He can hear your heartbeat, and may not recognize it. He knows mine, so that doesn't worry him."

"He should've been med-evac'd out, to a hospital. Those were some bad wounds, especially to his leg," the medic tried to protest, causing Downey to grin.

"He won't get infected, uh…?"

"Sondheim—but they call me Sunny," the medic helpfully interjected, still looking concerned.

"Right—Sunny. He _can't_ get infected, and that gash on his arm is almost healed already. He'll still limp tomorrow night, but his leg will be healed up otherwise. He'll never need antibiotics, rarely bothers with bandages, and only needs blood and sleep to heal. Nature of the beast, understand?"

He'd seen it, but… Sondheim took a deep breath. "He's not human, is he?"

"Nope. Vampire…but on _our_ side. He won't bite any of our people who don't offer willingly, or the villagers. And hangin' out with the guys, he'll drink any of 'em under the table without getting hung over afterwards. _But_ he's highly sun-allergic; _never_ tear open his uniform to get at any wounds where the sun can hit his skin. He'll go up like a torch if you do. Cover him over with something, and just put a pressure wrap on over his clothes, until you can get him into shelter if I'm not there, or incapacitated. And don't _ever_ try to take me away from him if I'm hurt; he won't allow it, and he might actually hurt you then."

The storeroom door opened slightly, cautiously, and Downey sighed. "You might as well come in to check him out, since we woke him up," he said, moving towards the cracked door.

"I wasn't hurt _that_ bad," Tony protested mildly as he moved back to his cot once more.

"Bad enough," Downey retorted. "Tony, this is Sunny, the medic who almost torched you earlier."

"With the best of intentions," the young medic protested as he came into the room after Ben. "Sorry about that; I didn't know. You look like you're feeling better now; can I check…?"

"Sure," Tony made a face. "I know your type: you won't leave me in peace until you do. I don't need the bandages anymore, though."

"So your… companion?... said," Sondheim said as he gently unwrapped Tony's arm. He looked in wonder at the faint scar that was the only thing still marring the pale flesh, then looked back at Tony's face. "He told me, but I hadn't thought it possible."

"Scar will be gone by morning," Tony assured him. "My leg will take a bit longer; there was a lot of damage to the muscle, and the bone was slightly cracked." He looked over at Downey repentantly. "Sorry, Ben," he said, actually dropping his eyes briefly. "I was gonna take one alive, but the bastard _shot_ me, and I lost my temper. Those damned bullets _hurt!"_

"That would be the guy you tore the throat outta, right?"

"Yeah. Think the captain's gonna be mad at me?"

"Nope," the medic said cheerfully. "He might just throw you a party; that damned mortar crew has been making life hell up here. Wish we knew where they went to hide from us, though."

"That's a good question," DaSilva said from just outside the storeroom door. The two humans jumped, startled, but Tony grinned.

"C'mon in, Captain," he called lightly. "Heard you out there; was wondering if you were gonna join us."

"You always just rush off like that?" DaSilva growled, covering his relief at finding this… vampire… apparently not as badly hurt as he'd seemed.

"Unfortunately, I guess so; it's not the first time I've gone off on my own," Tony admitted, not the least bit repentant-sounding. "You _did_ order your men to 'get them;' I'm one of yours now—told you that right before the attack. So I got them." Sunny here says you'd like to know where their hidey-hole was; give me 'til tomorrow night, and I'll try to back-track them, if you don't have a dog that can do that for ya. I'm better with fresh scent, but I'll try."

"You'll fit right in here," Sondheim muttered in disgust. _"You_ won't give yourself time to heal properly, either." Then he turned and left the vampire, casting an annoyed look back at him before passing out of sight.

DaSilva laughed. "You need anything, Tony?" he asked, a good CO despite his normally harsh demeanor.

"Thanks, but I'm good. Ben will see to me," Tony replied with a yawn. "'Scuse me; just need s'more sleep."

"You do that. Sergeant, step over here, would you? I want to talk to you a minute."

"Sure thing, Cap'n." He paused long enough to see that his vampire was settled comfortably, then followed his current CO out of the room.

"He gonna bite you like that often?" DaSilva asked, wasting no time dancing around the issue.

"He's…usually more circumspect," Ben answered with only slight hesitation. "But he was hurt and needed blood, and I was offering. Anyone else, he would have made sure first, but I'm _his_ human. It would have taken too long to convince everyone that all he needed was _some_ blood to drink, and I knew he wouldn't take enough to hurt me. How upset are the men, sir?"

"Surprisingly, not at all. They saw what had happened to that one insurgent, and how little damage he did to you. Plus he'd passed right by any number of them without even trying; kept pushing Sunny away from him, even. So he's not going to go after any of them?" This was something the captain wanted to be certain about.

_"If_ we got caught out without blood for him, and _if_ they offered to let him feed from them, he might drink a little bit. He won't kill any of them just to feed, Captain. He _might_ offer to turn one, if the guy was critically hit and he knew he couldn't be saved. He wouldn't force him, though. The insurgents are another matter entirely."

The captain looked at Downey long and hard, then nodded sharply. "Go on and get some rest yourself. You two are gonna be real busy here, once he's on his feet again." Then he, too, left them to their own devices.

~oOo~

Tony woke slowly—unusual for him. Oh, he didn't always get up right away, especially since they had those _great_ electric blankets now, but he usually snapped to full awareness. Today, though, he was slower to realize just where he was.

It was late afternoon, he knew; he could feel the sun starting to set. Downey was close, so _that_ was cool; he could hear the human's heart beating out a nice calm rhythm. He _was_ hungrier than usual… And then he remembered the mortar attack, and the subsequent feel of bullets tearing through his undead flesh. One eye cracked open, glowing in the darkened room.

"You awake now?"

"Yeah, Ben; I'm awake," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Good. Captain DaSilva wants to see you after you eat something. I'll go heat you up a unit—or d'ya want two today?"

"Definitely two, Ben." Slowly, carefully, he stretched, checking to make sure that the damage had mostly healed properly. By the time Downey was back with the blood, Tony had gotten up and managed to find a clean pair of pants that weren't cut up. He was sitting on his cot, frowning at the damaged pair when his blood arrived.

He looked up and sighed. "How the hell am I supposed to fix these, Ben?" he asked, his voice plaintive. "I won't have anything to wear, if this keeps up."

"Here, drink your breakfast. I got a special patch kit with me. We just sew a patch on like normal, then I got some stuff to line the inside; it's supposed to reinforce the material so it's good as new."

"You know how to sew?" He sat there with his head cocked as he looked at his Pet, his eyes hopeful.

"Yup. And I'll be happy to teach you, too," Downey said with a pleased smirk. "It's a good skill to have… and I promise not to tell anyone when we get back to Bragg."

It was a long-running joke among military types, Tony knew; most GIs could sew, at least well enough to replace buttons and insignia, but when they were Stateside, they just took their uniforms to the base cleaner's for any needed repairs or insignia changes, and mercilessly teased any guy who did it himself when he didn't absolutely have to. Frowning briefly at the thought—it really wasn't a pleasant chore—he drank his blood, then looked back at Downey. "Where do I hafta go to rinse out my mug? I _do_ realize you're not here to wait on me, hand and foot."

_"You_ just don't want to learn how to sew. I oughtta teach you to cook, too, just for that." Then Ben quickly ducked the pillow that came flying at him, and laughed. "Yeah, you're feeling better today. C'mon; DaSilva's waiting."

~o~

The captain was back in the briefing room, but he wasn't as grim-looking today. He actually smiled somewhat as the two newest members of his unit walked into the room. "You feeling better?" he asked, looking interested in the answer.

"Yessir," Tony responded, trying for a military tone.

DaSilva just grinned again. "Good. You'll be able to face the horrible horde—and answer questions. The guys have been buggin' me all day, trying to find out how you were doing. You won't have to worry about trying to find someone crazy enough to go out on patrol with your blood-sucking ass; they're all _volunteering_ already. I nearly had to break up a fight between two of my squad sergeants who were vying for the honor."

Tony looked shocked at that; Downey just chuckled. "Yeah, popularity does have its drawbacks," the sergeant agreed.

Tony stiffened a moment as he heard people gathering outside the briefing-room door, then huffed out a short laugh as he caught snatches of what they were saying to each other. "Hope you're ready for your threatened briefing, Captain; the guys just realized that I was up and out here. 'Our position is about to be overrun, sir,'" he paraphrased in a high-pitched, panicked voice, then laughed again as they started to pour into the room, good-naturedly pushing and shoving at each other. He saw mostly curiosity on their faces, anticipation on two… and understanding on one younger sergeant's. They gathered around quietly enough, though, and Tony felt himself relaxing. There wasn't a single stake to be seen among the bunch.

The briefing started, with DaSilva doing most of the talking. It was the basic vampire rundown, with Downey filling in gaps in the captain's knowledge as needed. Tony sat quietly, watching the soldiers absorbing the information. Some looked a little surprised at some of it; most just accepted what they were told. The younger sergeant just sat there, nodding in agreement.

Tony caught his eye as DaSilva paused in answering questions. "You knew all this, Sergeant, or strongly suspected it, right?" Tony said, staring into the man's eyes—or trying to.

"I knew, Tony," he agreed, carefully not meeting his eyes, and using Tony's name as they'd been instructed. "I knew another guy like you in LA when I was a kid. He was a big, broody guy; went around with a coupla humans killing things that went bump in the night. My oldest brother ran with a street gang, to protect the neighborhood against…not-so-friendly vamps. They gave each other a hand, from time to time. I wasn't supposed to know about all this, but you know how kids are, right? So I know about the eyes, and the fangs… _and_ the gameface."

"What's your name?" Tony asked, intrigued. A vamp in LA, fighting bad guys? It _had _to be…

"Ernesto Montoya; the guys just call me Ernie."

"I'm pleased to meet you then, Ernie. You _do_ understand that I'm not like him, don't you? I don't have a soul, so I've got no problems killing humans that I'm aimed at. You men are safe from me, as are the villagers you're protecting. The rest are, quite literally, fair game."

"Good enough… sir?" Ernie added the honorific somewhat hesitantly, but Tony just nodded and smiled.

"Master, actually, but I'm not using it out here. Just Tony will do very nicely."

"'Master'?" someone else asked, but there was no sneer or condemnation in his voice.

"A vampire ranking," Tony calmly said. "All of us start out as fledges, but we're either minions or Childer. A Childe can become a Master Vampire if they get strong enough over time; minions don't, and they were never intended to when they were turned. I don't have any Childer yet; I've just recently become a Master. Masters and Childer can control their urges; it's why you're safe with me."

"Good to know," someone else said, and the atmosphere in the room lightened once more. Tony hadn't realized that the humans had gotten worried; he'd have to watch that.

"What'd Ernie mean by 'gameface'?" one of the few women in the room asked.

"It's… my other form," Tony decided on that explanation after a moment's hesitation. "You haven't seen it yet; I've stayed in my human mask around you. It's why that insurgent screamed yesterday, though; I got mad when he shot me, and let my demon rise and my control slip. I see better in the dark that way, but I can also do partial changes—just let my fangs drop," he demonstrated as he spoke, "or just my eyes change. Since joining the military I usually only allow the full change when I'm fighting, or playing with my own kind."

He let his face morph fully now, but did it slowly, although that hurt. The soldiers closest to him could hear the bones in his face re-forming themselves. They watched, transfixed, as he let his demon fully surface. No one screamed, and fear did not fill the air, since they'd been prepared to see this. Heads nodded in understanding.

"All vampires do that?" DaSilva asked, taking back control of the meeting.

"Yes, Captain," Tony answered politely, although his words sounded more sibilant due to the fangs. He shook off his gameface before continuing. "Young and very weak minions are usually always in gameface. It takes time to learn to control your human mask, usually. Time, or a large feeding of Sire's blood right after rising, and a firm hand instructing the fledge. That's what I had to do in Iraq, Ben," he added, shifting his gaze to his Pet. "I had to make him nearly a Childe, or it never would have worked."

"Yeah, I get that, Tony," Downey replied, but they gave no further explanation, and the others, wisely, did not ask, since they were clearly referring to an earlier mission.

"So," DaSilva asked, breaking the mood, "you ready to try to back-track those terrorists you took out yesterday?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Tony laughed, although he didn't even bother to come to attention. "Just waiting for the sun to go down."

"You'll have to carry a light, so you look like all the other men," DaSilva cautioned.

The vampire just nodded. "Figured that, Captain. Word'll spread quickly enough about the _djinn_ in the area; best not to help the story get started any sooner than it has to. I'm good to go, whenever you say."

~o~

They went out to the mortar site, and Tony did try. He only managed to track them back about a quarter-mile before he lost the scent, though. "Sorry, Captain," he said with a sigh, shoulders slightly slumped at his failure. "I can't find it again. I've quartered the area, but it's faded too much. I'm not a dog, after all…"

"That's okay; we'll come out and look again tomorrow," DaSilva said, absolving him of responsibility. "We know what direction to look in, now. Hopefully, one of the others can find some sort of trace. You did good, Tony; don't think otherwise. I don't expect miracles, just that my men do the best they can at any given time. And you did just that."

That was, really, all the praise that anyone could ask for, and Tony was content.

Though the men went out the next day and searched in daylight (Tony safely hidden in his quarters), they never did find where the mortar crew had hidden between attacks.

~oOo~

So Tony found himself the golden boy of the hour. The men and women at the forward base smiled at him, came over to talk if he looked receptive. Someone got the bright idea of making him "bloodsicles"—they took a small ice-cube tray and froze blood—fresh human blood—in each section, with a toothpick frozen in each for a stick. He could tell by the taste that it was from the people of his unit, making themselves _his._ He was not only a Master now, he realized, but he had also somehow acquired a willing Stable.

With humans of his own to protect now, he applied himself more diligently to night guard-duty, though that was terribly boring. He caught several Taliban infiltrators, men who'd meant to cause trouble in the village, before they could even start to threaten the locals. It was easy, he insisted: the insurgents smelled of gun oil and explosives, while their village's people did not. That incident only made him more popular with the soldiers, and now the villagers smiled at him too—on the rare occasion that they actually _saw_ him.

He enjoyed the long, extended patrols he sometimes got to go on, although he had to cover up carefully. The inhabitants of the villages they patrolled through didn't know what to make of the tall soldier in American uniform, who covered his head as one of their own might. They gave him no trouble though, and he acted as an interpreter for the others when he went out with them. That caused the locals to gossip; the most popular rumor had it that he was one of their own whose family had emigrated to America when he was a child.

Tony didn't really care what they thought; all he knew was that he has happy. His CO approved of him, his stable liked him, and he was bringing honor to his Clan. Ripper would be proud of him, and that was what really counted.

Downey, too, was accepted among the others, although he wasn't as happy at the forward base. Tony could understand that; the human had accepted a rotation that would keep him away from all this for a while, only to find himself right back here, and with a vampire, no less. Thus Tony did not fuss or get upset when DaSilva called them into the briefing room for new orders.

"You sent for us, Captain?" Tony asked as they strolled into the room.

DaSilva actually looked unhappy. "Yeah. Hate to say it, Tony, but it's time for you an' your sergeant to go back to main headquarters. I hate to lose you; you've been a real asset out here."

"Oh," Tony said, caught by surprise. He wasn't sure how he felt; going back would be good, but his Stable… And then he saw the trap he'd made for himself and fallen into. "I hadn't realized, Captain; I'm just gonna miss everyone, ya know?"

The men of his unit weren't really _his_, he understood now. They were just in his care temporarily. It was a good thing he hadn't actually bitten any of them, for that would have made it harder for them if they had to work with others of his kind in the future.

"Problem, Tony?" DaSilva was perceptive; he could see that the vampire was unhappy about something.

"Did we tell you about the possessive nature of a vampire, Captain?" Downey asked, his voice soft; he'd realized what Tony's problem was. "Tony's just gonna miss everyone; he got to thinking of them as _his._ His humans, to cherish and protect—and keep."

"I knew they weren't, Ben, not really," Tony protested, but pain showed in his eyes.

"Yeah, but then you started to get a taste of their blood—"

_"What?!"_ DaSilva managed not to shout, but it was a close thing.

Downey chuckled. "You didn't know about the little treats they made Tony? The little bloodsicles? He knew who gave the blood for each one of those little frozen morsels, Captain. They meant well, and he still wouldn't hurt them, but to him, it was like they gave themselves to him, as a Stable—a carefully tended food source."

"Only Masters keep a Stable, Captain," Tony explained, a rueful look on his face now. "I'm just recently a Master, remember? My instincts told me I'd gained my first Stable; my brain didn't even realize I'd felt that way. I never bit any of them, if that's what you're worrying about, so they won't have any problems in the future— They won't smell like I cast them off to any vamps they might work with in the future," he explained at DaSilva's confused look.

He only shook his head. "I'll miss _you,_ but I won't miss the challenges you raised, being here," he confessed, then smiled and offered his hand. "It _was_ good, having you here with us. Good luck on your future assignments, men."

Tony looked blankly at the outstretched hand momentarily; then memory kicked in, and he stepped forward and shook it. "Thanks, Captain. Take care of yourself and the rest." Then he turned and left the building, followed by his Pet. At least he still had Downey.

The rest of "his" humans gathered to see him off, making his leave-taking both harder and sweeter. But, gear in the back, he and Downey were soon in the waiting Humvee, and heading back to civilization—or at least to Dubai.

**Notes**

(1) Modern medical practice separates whole blood into packed red cells and plasma. The plasma is then immediately frozen, to give it a longer shelf-life. FFP stands for fresh-frozen plasma.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

After the relative freedom of the backcountry, Tony felt nearly smothered in the city. Granted, there was a night life here, but he missed the easy camaraderie he'd found with the people of the forward base. Here, he had no one to be responsible for except Downey. Tony did not like his perceived demotion in status at all. So, in frustrated boredom—they had to wait nearly a week before returning Stateside, for some unknown-to-them reason—he took to wearing civvies and going out to prowl the night.

He made no kills; that wasn't why he went, and he didn't want to cause any problems. But he heard things, rumors in the poorer areas of the city, that worried him, rumors of young men going missing. Some believed that they were just running away to join the Taliban or Al-Qaida, but others thought that demons prowled the night. At loose ends, Tony set himself to look for them.

At first he had no luck, until he thought about the _types_ of men going missing. All the ones he'd heard about were young, unmarried… So Tony started looking for brothels. They were harder to find here, after the strict rule of the Taliban, but even those so-called godly men had needs of the flesh, and not all here were truly devout Muslims, although they pretended to be. It took a while, but at last he found what he was looking for.

It made sense. Prostitutes worked at night and slept during the day, and the men who guarded such would do likewise. People—if they knew of the hours they kept—wouldn't wonder at those who lived a night life along with such as their profession. Tony watched, carefully counting the vampires within.

It was a small nest, he decided: one female, who seemed to be Mistress there; two hefty males who acted as bouncers; and two other, younger-looking females, the whores themselves. Most of the humans who patronized the place came out again alive, if a little lower on blood than when they'd entered. A few were carried out the back door, to where, Tony didn't know or care. All he knew was that he couldn't allow the nest to continue existing, for its presence threatened the lives of the American servicemen and -women here. He felt responsible for them, oddly enough, even if they weren't strictly _his._

So Tony watched and waited for two nights, until he could get the males alone, out on one of their "errands." Muslim vampires, Tony decided happily, staked just as satisfyingly as any other kind. The "muscle" disposed of, he brushed the dust off his clothes and returned to the brothel. He walked inside just in time to chase two young humans out before they put themselves at risk.

To say the Mistress here was displeased would have been an understatement. She hadn't realized that there were any other vampires here in the city and so had thought Tony merely a presumptuous human—until he vamped out and snarled in her face when she tried to attack him.

Her two "girls" tried to join in; he staked one outright, and crippled the other, to be dealt with later. The madam drew back in shock, for she was nowhere near as strong as this interloper. Yes, she would lose control of this nest, but… "Master," she hissed, offering her neck (from a supposedly safe distance) subserviently. "I didn't realize—"

That was all she had time for, before she exploded into dust from his stake. The surviving girl glared at him from angry yellow eyes, but she couldn't fight him any longer.

"Any more of you here?" he demanded, his eyes a hard, glowing gold.

"One," she admitted reluctantly. "Mistress hasn't let her out of the cellar—she rose last night and hasn't fed yet."

He studied the girl carefully. This one was not a minion as the males had been… "You were one of her Childer," he said, tilting his head to study her further.

"Yes," she confirmed, reluctant. "So is the one downstairs, though she wasn't meant to be. Mistress got distracted and gave her more blood than she intended. The other," she cast a scornful look at the pile of vamp-dust that had been a pretty girl, "was only a minion, like Lilliamma was supposed to be."

"Give me one good reason not to stake you right now," Tony said, even though he fully intended to do so anyway.

"I will serve you, Master," she said, smiling coyly at him. "I will bring you tasty morsels, and pleasure you thr—" That was as far as she got before he snapped her neck and pulled her head off, ducking back from the dust-cloud. He hadn't liked the duplicity he'd seen in her eyes.

All that was left for Tony to do then was to find the cellar and deal with the one down there.

~o~

He found the girl—young woman, actually—naked and trembling in heavy chains. She was starving, but kept her eyes downcast. Clearly she had heard all that had transpired above her and expected to die now also.

He didn't know why he hesitated. "You are called Lilliamma?" he asked, watching her curiously.

"Yes, Master," she answered, her head still bent. She didn't struggle, didn't even rattle her chains. She was motionless; then, slowly, she raised her head, tilting it far to the side to offer him her throat.

He stepped towards her and ran a hand over her neck, tilting her head back until he could see her face. Even in gameface, she was lovely; Tony wondered what her human mask would look like. His other hand ran over her lustrous black hair as he looked at her and thought.

She wasn't his blood; she wasn't Aurelian. But she was young, and submissive, and something about her called out to him. He eased her head to the side once more and bit deeply, obliterating the mark on her neck where she'd been turned and covering it with his own.

Still she didn't struggle, remaining submissive under his fangs, even though she had to feel herself weakening. He stopped before draining her completely, opening his shirt and pulling her to his chest. "Drink," he commanded, opening a deep gash on his breast with a sharp fingernail.

She did as ordered, latching onto the wound and sucking up the freely flowing blood, the first blood she'd tasted since rising. It was hot, and spicy with life, and she knew nothing would ever taste this good again. But she let him ease her away from the wound when he indicated she'd had enough, and looked at him with adoring, though downcast, eyes. "Sire?" she whispered hesitantly.

"Sire," he confirmed with a nod, content now.

~o~

The rooms upstairs yielded a plenitude of clothing for the girl he'd decided to cross-sire, although much was inappropriate, in his opinion. He let her pick out what she wanted of the more modest attire, as well as much of the better jewelry. He had found an old military-style bag for her to pack her "new" belongings into while he searched the rest of the rooms. What money he found, he kept, and there was a lot of it. He left all weapons behind, since those could possibly be identified. Then he led the girl, covered in a full _burqa,_ from the house she'd risen in, and into a new life altogether.

They managed to get into the base area without detection, and into his quarters, which was where they ran into their first problem.

Still in gameface—she hadn't gotten out of it yet—she lunged at the human she discovered in Sire's room. At least she tried to; Tony's backhand sent her crashing against the far wall. _"Mine!"_ he snarled in rage, his hands now around her throat, in full gameface.

"Yours!" she gasped out with the last of her breath, trying to show her throat in submission. Other than that, she was motionless, unresisting in his hands.

"Tony?" Downey asked carefully, not yet realizing just how close he'd come to being killed.

The two vampires ignored him. "You do not touch _any_ of the humans here without my express permission. Is that clear?" he growled at her, but he was calming at her obvious acceptance of his authority.

"Yes, Sire," she said, her voice soft with compliance.

"Ben, come here," Tony called, still all Master Vampire.

The human obeyed immediately. Downey had apparently gotten a clue—probably from that softly spoken "Sire" of the girl's. "Yes, Master Tony?" he said as he moved to Tony's side and leaned lightly against him. He'd done some reading; that the vampire allowed this showed his "favored" status. He caught the girl's glowing yellow eyes watching him through the eye-slit of her _burqa._

"Ben, this is Lilliamma; she is my Childe now, although you still have rank over her. I found her—where doesn't matter—and staked the vamp who'd turned her. I'm claiming her, cross-siring her for Aurelius."

Downey had seen the flash of gratitude in her eyes when Tony had not said where he'd found her; he could guess. He just nodded and looked her in the eyes as much as possible. She averted her gaze once more. "Okay," he said slowly, thinking about the problems he'd have to smooth over in the morning. "There any others where she came from?"

"Nottt anymore," Tony mimicked Inspector Clouseau (1) in a satisfied voice. "I wiped out the rest. She hadn't drunk any blood since her turning, so I claimed her."

"Ah, I see. Want some blood? I've got some here I can heat up for both of you."

"One for her— No, she'll feed from me," Tony decided, changing his mind. "I want three, though; I'll be feeding heavier until we get back to the States—eating for two, since she'll only drink from me until we get home."

"Gotcha. I'll notify the colonel in the morning," Downey said as he moved to a small mini-fridge and took out the blood bags.

"Lilliamma, this is my Pet, Ben Downey. You will protect him with your unlife. We work with the military, as you will too, now. You will _not_ eat any of the soldiers, nor will you sleep with them. Do you understand?" Tony asked, his voice going gentle now.

"Yes, Sire. Thank you." She was grateful; sex with _him_ would be wonderful, her demon felt, but to have allowed other men, _human_ men… She had been a good girl in life, a modest girl. She knew what her old mistress had meant for her to do; the female had explained it all to her in lurid detail before killing her. She would do anything her new—_true—_Sire wanted, including guarding his humans. He would give her dignity, which was all she desired. Well, that, and blood, and him…

"Ben, go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, okay? Don't come back until tomorrow afternoon," Tony ordered, reading her scent and body language clearly.

And Downey was no fool. "Right, Tony. Have a good night," he said as he passed the first mug of warmed blood to his Master and beat a hasty retreat.

~oOo~

"Colonel, got a minute?"

Colonel Blake looked up at his soft-footed visitor to see that sergeant—what was his name again?—who'd come with the vampire, standing in his doorway. He pushed back from his desk a bit and nodded. "A few, Sergeant. What do you need?"

"Uhm… we've got a slight problem, sir," Downey began uncertainly. "You know we're going back to our home base in another two days… but there won't be just two of us going, sir. Master Tony needs travel papers and some gear authorized—and a place on the plane—for one more."

"What did he do?" Blake demanded, his voice a low growl, horror growing in his eyes. He _knew_ it had been too good to be true, that glowing report from the forward base. Vampires were monsters…

Downey looked at the colonel knowingly. "Not what you apparently are thinking, whatever it is, sir."

The dry drawl of Downey's words pulled Blake out of his horror-filled thoughts. "Explain!" he snapped, getting somewhat of a grip on himself.

Stressing the title, Downey nodded and answered, _"Master_ Tony has been… exploring the city while we waited for our flight home all week. He heard some rumors, and when he investigated, he found a nest of local vampires. The traditional _'I vant to suck your blud'_ type. They put the whole city at risk, so he took out the nest to protect everyone. Except, for some reason, he kept one of them and claimed her for his…_our_…clan. I was told to leave for the night; I'll find out more later this afternoon. However, judging by the girl's reactions at what he _did_ say, I suspect he got her from a brothel of some type.

"But Colonel, sir, that's beside the point. We're gonna need the appropriate uniforms for the girl so we can take her home with the fewest questions asked. I need to get her some protective gear; Master Tony'd go on a rampage if she torched by accident because we didn't take the necessary precautions. And I don't think you really want us bringing a _burqa_-wearing female back on a military flight, do you, sir?"

"High Command will never allow this!" Blake spluttered in shock.

"High Command won't oppose it if they've got a brain in their collective heads. Tony has taken her as a Childe—that's a high-status vamp. He's not gonna abandon or destroy her, unless she defies or betrays him, and from what I saw of her, she's not the type. He's already started her training, Colonel. So, to his mind, it's a done deal. _He_ has the status to take a Childe—Hell, he could have _made_ one of his own, instead of…uh, I guess 'adopting' is the closest we could come to describing what he did.

"Look, sir, if you don't want to do it, let me make a sat-phone call to back to the base and talk to Master Ripper. He can get things going from that end; might be better that way anyhow."

Blake was numb. A surprise attack in the middle of the night—that, he could handle. But this? He waved a vague hand to his phone. "You know the number for a satellite call?" he asked, managing to sound coherent, as Downey picked up the phone.

"Yessir," Downey replied, already punching in the sat-code. He moved over to an empty chair and sat as it rang. He wasn't military now; he was the Pet of a high-ranking Aurelian.

The phone was answered quickly, by a familiar voice. "Yes?"

"Master Ripper. This is Ben; Master Tony is fine." Ben smiled as he covered the basics as quickly as possible.

"Okay, now that I'm reassured, what's up?" Ripper chuckled at the human's statement, then waited to hear what sort of catastrophe had befallen his sibling.

"Oh, it's nothing terrible; we just need to have some strings pulled and some gear sent out here. Master Tony found a young female, here in the city, and he's claimed her for a Childe. We just need to figure out how to get her home with us."

"Status gone to his head, huh?"

"I don't think so, Master. I don't really know how he got her, except that he found her, already turned. He just got her early this morning, and I haven't heard the whole story yet; he kicked me out until this afternoon."

Ripper laughed at that. "Be thankful."

"Oh, I am, believe me," Downey chuckled back before returning to business. "I think I can get some regulation uniforms to fit her here…" A nod from Blake confirmed this. "…but I don't know about headgear."

"A female?" Ripper mused thoughtfully. "Our protective gear looks almost Muslim… Just get her a light- or neutral-colored headscarf and veil, and a cowl. White, cream, or tan will do. That, added to a uniform, should work. I'll have a spare pair of sunglasses waiting for you when the plane touches down, if it's daylight when you arrive here; you'll just have to be extra careful on your end."

"What about orders?"

"I'll have Colonel Townsend take care of that. You just be careful around her, Ben," Ripper cautioned his lieutenant's Pet. "If she's young enough to cross-Sire, she won't have much, if any, control. How's she feeding?"

"From Master Tony, sir. He'll be feeding a lot more heavily while we're here, or so he said." Downey was worried, and it showed in his voice.

"No; that's good," Ripper assured the young human. "That'll make her stronger quicker, and satisfy her blood-hunger better. It'll tie her to Tony better, too, and make it safer for you."

"He's already warned her off me, and the other soldiers."

"There shouldn't be a problem, then. Just…it could get kinda…noisy, Ben," Ripper warned, skirting around the issue as closely as possible, trying to be careful of the human's sensibilities.

"Oh, yeah, Master Ripper. I expect so. You're not exactly quiet yourself," Downey laughed now.

"Oh…right." There was a pause, then, "I better get working on this."

"Yessir. I'll start getting a uniform together for her."

"What's her name?"

Downey chuckled again. "Don't know all of it, but I think Master Tony called her something like Lillianna, although I may not have heard it right."

"You're not alone right now, are you? You don't usually call Tony 'Master' that much. Never mind; have Tony call me when he surfaces, so I can get the paperwork done. I'll wait up for his call, whatever the time."

"Will do, Master Ripper. And thanks, sir. Downey out." Then he hung up the phone and looked back at Blake. "So where do I go to get a uniform for a young lady? And I'll need a female troop to go to the local bazaar with me, for more traditional head coverings. Sir," he added as he shifted back to being a soldier instead of a Pet.

~oOo~

There was an uneasy-looking reception committee waiting for them to deplane back in North Carolina. Downey wondered what they'd expected to find—the aircrew all drained of blood? _Oh, yeah,_ he mocked mentally, _the aircraft just landed itself. Morons._ Still, he said nothing, silently following his Master down the rear loading ramp towards the waiting vehicles.

Lilliamma—he'd finally gotten her name straight—walked at Downey's side, looking around herself curiously. Ben knew that Tony was pleased with her. She'd managed to keep from even hissing at the aircrew, despite the hostile looks of one man in particular. By the time they'd landed, Downey himself had been willing to hold the jerk while she ripped out his throat. Fortunately, Tony hadn't allowed it. _Pity…_

But they were back in the States now, and soon they'd be safely in their own quarters. Idly Ben wondered just how they'd arrange things now, considering that the new Childe needed a lot of contact with her Sire, but _he_ still needed access to the vamps… No doubt they'd work something out.

Still silent, they piled all their gear into the back of the waiting van, then climbed in themselves for the ride back to their bunker home.

Ripper himself was waiting for them at the loading bay, along with Colonel Townsend and Major Fielding. Tony couldn't quite keep from being pleased at the honor he perceived at this welcome. He couldn't let it go to his head, though; he had a Childe to provide an example for now. So he pulled himself up into a close approximation of attention as his party came to a stop before the waiting commanders.

"Master, Colonel," he said in greeting with a polite nod of his head to each. He noted that Downey bowed to Ripper, then saluted the two human officers. Lilliamma just quietly went to her knees and prostrated herself to the one she'd been told was Nest Master here.

"Welcome home, Tony," Ripper said with a pleased smile. He nodded pleasantly at Ben, who'd settled into parade rest after his salute had been returned by the others. "Good to have you back; we've had some very good reports on you and Downey. And now you bring the Clan a new Childe, too. You'll have to tell me all about your tour later, after you've rested and eaten.

"But bring your Pet and Childe, Tony. We've rearranged the quarters a bit to accommodate our growing family. The Colonel will debrief you both tomorrow; tonight, we party." He watched as the girl rose gracefully from the floor, wondering what she'd look like with the head-coverings off—or if she'd adapt far enough to be comfortable without them. He hadn't gotten so much as a glimpse of her eyes, and wondered if, being as young as Tony said, she had even gotten enough control to come out of gameface yet.

~o~

They found their quarters, when they reached them, had been shuffled around, with a sitting room now between Downey's and Tony's sleeping areas, and a room for Lilliamma just beyond Tony's. Her corridor door was sealed shut, as were Tony's and Ben's, although theirs could still be opened by their occupants as emergency exits; all normal access to the suite was now through the sitting area. Ripper had taken the two rooms to Downey's other side. Since the Nest Master still had no Pet—no handler—of his own, the extra room would serve him as an office/sitting room, allowing him privacy in his sleeping chamber. He _did_ have a certain show of status to maintain, after all.

It was in Ripper's public room that they all gathered, once all the gear had been dropped off at the appropriate quarters.

"So," Ripper said quietly, once everyone had settled into their chosen seats. "Let's see your Childe, Tony. You said her name is Lilliamma? A lovely name…"

"For a lovely girl," Tony agreed, smiling now at the girl in encouragement. "Call her Lilly for short; she's as graceful as a flower."

She had settled onto a cushion on the floor beside Tony's chair; now she slowly pushed back her cowl and lowered her veil, allowing the men gathered there to see her face for the first time. Her sire had told her that he'd wish this of her, once they arrived here; it was reassuring that none of them looked upon her with lust in their eyes. Sire had said that they would not…

Her eyes were a sparkling black, as was what hair they could see—not much was visible, covered as it was by her head-scarf. Her skin was pale, lighter than Downey's, but not as light as Tony's or Ripper's. Her face was heart-shaped, and young-looking.

"Truly a lovely Childe," Ripper agreed. "Gameface, please, Lilly," he requested, wondering if he'd be able to tell anything about the line of the vampire who'd turned her. She shifted her face, quietly proud that she was able to do as asked. She had worked so hard for her Sire, to gain the control to shift masks as requested.

_"Very_ lovely. You've chosen a very nice first Childe, Tony," Ripper said in approval once more.

"She's willing to serve with us, like we do, Master," Tony said, still keeping a formal tone.

"We'll get the paperwork filled out after the debrief, then," Townsend said agreeably. "I'll notify Medical to expect her sometime late tomorrow afternoon for her inprocessing checkup."

"I… ask for a week for her, Master, before chipping," Tony hesitated to request, but he felt it was only fair. "She's only been turned four—no, five days, now. She barely knows what is to _be_ a vampire; she's never killed, and she's only had blood from me."

"Master Ripper, she didn't even snarl once at the aircrew," Downey added his own voice to the plea. "Trust me; there was one guy there that _really_ deserved it, too. When he saw she covered up like a Muslim woman, he turned into the biggest bigot on the face of the Earth. _I_ wanted to rip his throat out, but she just ignored him."

"We'll see how it goes," was all that Ripper would say on that issue, but that was more than Tony had hoped for. "Tonight the rest of the unit wants to welcome you home—the ones that are still here, that is. Kelly and Mitch got back three days ago; they didn't have anywhere near as much excitement as you did, although Kelly's Pet nearly broke his leg tripping over a tent-stay in the dark. He's still limping from that, the fool. He'd been drinking."

"He's bad for that," Downey agreed with Ripper's assessment in disgust. "I'll be surprised if Kelly doesn't trade him for someone better, more reliable."

"It's being considered," Ripper surprised him by saying. "Anyway, three other pairs have gone out, so our unit is now officially activated. Congratulations are due to all of you… or so I've been told," he finished with a grin.

He rose and headed for the door, then paused and turned back. "They've named us, you know—the human troops your three teams worked with. All three units you were embedded with came up with the same suggestion for a name for us. High Command decided to go with it."

"So?" Tony asked, curious now. Even Downey looked at Ripper expectantly. "What is it?"

"We're the Nightstalkers—What else _could_ we be?" Ripper answered with a laugh, leading the way to the party that waited to welcome home the Conquering Heroes and to rejoice in their new name:

Nightstalkers.

_Fin, _Part 2

**Notes**

(1) Peter Sellers' character in the _Pink Panther_ movies.


End file.
